


A Six Sided Infinity

by sighclops



Category: Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: Bastila's in there somewhere too I think, F/M, mentions of Canderous and Carth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sighclops/pseuds/sighclops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years post Malachor redux. Meetra is struggling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

_There are thieves who rob us blind_   
_And kings who kill us fine_   
_But steady the rights and the wrongs_   
_Invade us, in innocent songs._

_I’m not ready._   ****

\--

Meetra knows what mourning is.

She’s felt the sting of war in her bones, unyielding and maybe unending. She’s laughed with her soldiers, she’s seen them die. Somewhere along the line she realized that it’s all for nothing, that not one person could give thousands a reason to leave their lives behind. Not even Revan, who stirred and shook the galaxy, who tried to protect what he loved by giving away everything and everyone, a seemingly noble sacrifice of the lives brave and foolish enough to follow him.

And for what?

A Republic that eventually buckled and fell to it’s knees to the very person who tried to save it. Betrayal and redemption mean nothing, after all, if it’s the innocent who are lost. Meetra’s seen it, the pain of families and loved ones left behind. She’s seen what it is to mourn a life that was so vibrant and full, eyes gone cold and a stare hard as the end comes. It branches out to all those they’ve touched, the pain refracts and reverberates and Meetra doesn’t think she’ll ever understand why.

She knows she can’t compare her loss to those of war, to the people she’s seen love and lose, to those who gave their all for a galaxy that will always tip back towards neutral. For the Force and whatever that means, whatever she once believed in only to turn up cold and dead at her feet.

Meetra knows she can’t compare her loss to any of that, but it still feels like mourning.

\--

Waking up is the worst part.

It begins with icy fingers dragging up her arms and legs, reminding her she’s in a bed too large, too empty, too everything it once was and now isn’t. Light flecks in from the window and into her eyes, guiding them around its large frame, reminding her of too many nights when the stars would pass by, burning out and fading like fireworks; reminding her that there’s life beyond the thick glass, and she needs to submerge herself in it. Osmosis or whatever, she doesn’t really care.

She gets out of bed, folding the duvet up so that the bed appears as though it hasn’t been slept in, and really, it feels like it. It’s what she tells everyone when they see her. She hasn’t slept, she’s getting older, she’s just tired. Nothing more, nothing to look past and into. It’s convincing enough, she figures, no one presses on about it.

Meetra knows what they’re thinking though, her appearance gives it away. She’s long avoided looking at herself in the mirror, she knows what’s there. The sight of deep purple marks beneath her eyes and pale, pale skin stretching over her sad features won’t change anything. She remembers the life in her eyes and the dimple on her cheek that stayed a bit too long after she’d stopped smiling; she supposes she hasn’t seen it in a while, now.

Rubbing her hands over her face, Meetra skips breakfast, because that’s what she does. Too many early mornings resulted in bad habits and too few words said to the one person that needed them most. So she heads out the door and tries not to recount the numbers in her head. She does anyways because it’s what she’s been reduced to. Numbers.

Five years since Kreia died on Malachor.

Five years since they moved in together.

Four months since reality set in.

One month since he left.

 _Just because we’re not together_ , he’d said, _doesn’t mean I won’t need you_.

She swallows roughly as she gets into the taxi. It’s cold, colder than it has been in a long time, and as she pulls her scarf up to cover her lips and nose she tells herself that it doesn't mean anything. She doesn't have to find symbolism in everything, there's no deeper meaning behind the simplest of things. No matter what she tells herself, though, the cold feels foreboding.

Coruscant passes in a blur that she's seen countless times. Only after so many did it lose its appeal, and only when it took on a deeper meaning did she stop caring what shade the sky was. Vomit, she thinks now, it's early enough that the sky is vomit colored.

And she kind of hates it.

She closes her eyes for the rest of the ride, waiting until she can feel the taxi stop to open them again. It stops short of the Senate Building, but it’s quiet at this time of morning and she doesn’t particularly feel like making it an issue, so she gets out. She can walk.

Thankfully it’s cold enough that she can’t focus on anything other than putting one foot in front of the other, hurrying into the Senate Building. The door floods her with heat and the promise of another day losing herself in her work, and she wonders absently as she heads to her office when exactly work became a thing for her, when it became important to her. When it took precedence over what she really needs.

Mission interrupts her thoughts before they get too involved, thankfully. She has with her two cups of coffee and Meetra’s fairly certain she’d kiss her on the lips if it were deemed professional. Instead she sips the warm drink, a bit too sugary to mask the bitter taste, but it’s better than the headache already threatening to creep up the back of her skull.

“Thank you,” she says, once the heat of the drink fills her stomach, warming her through to her fingertips. “What’s on the itinerary for the day?”

She knows Mission hesitates because she’s filing through the papers on her desk, the one’s she thought they’d sorted through last night. It’d been one of those nights that stretched on much longer than it should’ve, the kind of night that drove him away and somehow it wasn’t any easier without the nagging guilt. Pressing her lips together, Meetra tries to forget, but the moment allowed makes her clutch the mug just a bit tighter.

“Senator Barshay still hasn’t signed,” Mission says as she thumbs through one of the more crucial files they need.

Meetra closes her eyes. “Seriously?”

“I know,” Mission says after a quiet moment, “but we’ll figure it out.”

The Twi’lek’s features twist marginally, and Meetra is slow to let out a breath and a nod. She’s thankful for Mission’s presence, fairly certain that positivity goes a lot further than anything else when it comes to success. They’ve always been close, ever since she moved to Coruscant, and now they’ve taken to calling themselves the Dream Team. She wouldn’t really want anyone else working beside her every day.

And it’s just a way to support the Republic, she supposes, or at least that was what she was thinking when she accepted the position. There was no way she could’ve known how it would change everything, but maybe it’s worth it in the end, as long as she’s doing something.

“We will,” she agrees eventually, offering Mission a smile.

Mission smiles too, until it starts to fade and turns into pressed lips before she speaks. “Hey, uh, a few of us were thinking of going out tonight. You should come.”

Meetra’s head snaps up from where she’s thumbing through the files on her desk. It’s not the first time Mission or anyone has invited her out, usually she avoids it with some excuse, she’s tired, she’s getting old, always getting old, but Mission looks serious, so she doesn’t offer the usual inanity.

“I don’t know, Mish.”

She nods. “I know, I know, it’s just—we miss you, yeah?”

Meetra nods too, because yeah, she knows it’s true. Admitting that won’t do anything though, so she lets another quiet moment pass, thumbing through a file as she tries to figure out how to get out of this. She quirks her lips to the side before she glances up at Mission, who’s still watching her. She takes a breath before she speaks. “We’ve been really busy, Mish, you know that.”

“That’s true,” the girl answers calmly, “but that hasn’t stopped me from going out and seeing them.”

“Well we’ll see how you deal when you’re my age, I think the osteoporosis is settling in.”

Mission lets out a small laugh. “Yeah, _okay_ , let’s pretend that’s true. Even granny needs a night out, right?”

“You’re funny, you know, reminding me of my agedness. It cuts deep, my dear.”

“You’re not old.”

Meetra shakes her head. “Tell that to the aches and pains.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Mission says, petulance in her tone.

“Are you really certain about that?"

“Yes, and your persistence is annoying, no wonder you got everyone to sign.”

Meetra raises a brow, her lips threatening to curl into a smile. “You forgot about Barshay.”

“Oh, right,” Mission rolls her eyes. “How could I forget? Don’t worry about it so much, one of us will come up with something. My credits are on you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I mean it, and you deserve a night off before you formulate your master plan.”

“You’re right,” Meetra says. “I _did_ have my eye on a bottle of wine and a particularly awful romcom.”

Mission sighs, her voice flat and unaffected. “You’re hopeless.”

And, well, shoot. “What do you want me to say, Mish?” she asks, forcing herself to swallow. “That I’d love to go? Because I think we both know the answer to that.”

“Mee, we’ve been friends for a while now, yeah? I think you can trust me when I say you can handle it. It’ll be weird, yeah, because you’ve been avoiding everyone for—”

“I haven’t been _avoiding_ them,” she interrupts.

Mission gives her a look that says more than enough. “As I was saying. You’ve been avoiding everyone since he left and I don’t think it’s really fair to keep holding on to whatever happened between you two. I get it that you don’t want to tell me about it, but was it so bad that you can’t see anyone?”

“I don’t really have a choice here, do I?”

“Meetra, you’re not listening to me.”

“Do I ever?” And okay, she knows she’s pushing it.

Mission looks annoyed, something that’s easy to do in jest, but she looks serious now and it forces another swallow from Meetra.

“You know,” Mission says, and Meetra swears her own body is frozen, only able to watch her lips move, “I’m not letting you wallow in whatever this is, I know you Meetra, and I know it’s been hard, but these are your friends, we’re here for you and you know we love you.”

She closes her eyes and for a moment she pretends that it doesn’t hurt. She pretends that a couple weeks hasn’t actually been a little over a month, and that he’s not the only person she’s been avoiding. She regrets the empty promise to pretend like nothing has changed. They all know it’s different, and despite what Mission is saying, she can’t possibly consider going. She knows it’ll tear down everything she’s worked towards for the past month, and she can’t give that up.

She absolutely cannot, so she doesn’t understand when she finds herself nodding.

And she can’t take it back, because a smile has already etched itself onto Mission’s youthful features. For a moment Meetra loses herself in it, in her smile, because the darker blue shadows sweeping across her face feel vaguely like the ocean, and maybe she can see infinity in them.

“Okay,” she hears herself say, but she doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t think she’ll physically be able to go, she thinks maybe her legs are frozen in place and that’s it, she’ll stay in this office for the rest of her life. Easier that way, she supposes.

But Mission breaks into a smile, coming over and wrapping her arms around Meetra’s neck, breathing a _thank you_ into her ear, followed by an _it’ll be great_ , and _everyone will be so happy to see you_.

For a moment Meetra believes her, that they won’t resent her for avoiding him because of what happened. For all that’s happened. Maybe they can all pretend like everything didn’t break into pieces, that the disappointing dream of destiny still exists.

That Meetra didn’t let them all down.

So she closes her eyes and allows herself a moment to accept Mission’s hug. Her arms tighten around her marginally, but it’s enough to force out the thoughts that she hates, the ones that keep her up most nights and drove him away completely. In Mission’s arms she can forget for a moment all that has happened, seemingly a lifetime between the days of hurtling through space with these people and drifting off into her own mind.

Five years.

\--

The after work hour is a daze of too many people and bright lights burning the edges of Meetra’s vision as she walks to the cantina. It’s close enough to her flat that she was able to stop in and get changed before she sees them. She does it mostly because she doesn’t want them to see her as the woman that fell apart, the one that threw herself into work because it became all she had. She wants to be _their_ Meetra, the one who wears oversized sweaters that remind her of Jedi robes, the one who tells terrible jokes that only Atton laughs at out of pity, the one who’s half the weight of but can still outdrink Canderous. That might come in handy tonight.

The streets are too familiar. She thinks that maybe her footsteps are imprinted on the sidewalk, weary and worn down from too many nights stumbling out of the cantina, stumbling over Atton and her own drowsiness. His arm would be tight around her waist, pulling her close as they tried to make it home before either were too tired to go any further. She thinks that maybe her drunken footsteps are still there, but she doesn’t look because she knows his would be, too.

The thing is, Meetra doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to be just friends with Atton. She doesn’t know _how_ to be friends with him anymore. Really, she’s avoided him for a month even though they said they wouldn’t. The ache creeping up the back of her neck tells her that seeing him again would only confirm all her fears. Not only the nightmares, but that he’s fine without her, better even. She wants to ignore it, but she can’t.

Because she doesn’t want him to be better off without her, and she knows its selfish. She’s lost most of the people in her life, and now that she’s been given the chance to keep them she’s only made it worse. So yeah, she wants to be missed, and maybe it’s for all the missing she’s had to do in her life, or maybe it’s because she doesn’t want to give up the hope that it’ll work out better than the hand of fate.

You can’t play the Force, though.

For all she knows he could be happy, he could be seeing someone else and living his life the way a man like him should. He should be able to meet people without that internal hatred for himself, the unforgiveness for nearly a lifetime of pain. He should be able to move on now that he’s free from the past. She just doesn’t think she’d be able to watch it happen, she won’t be able to stand seeing him happier with someone else.

She’s close to turning around when thoughts of Atton getting married enters her head, but she lets them disappear as the heavy lights of their usual cantina come into focus. She hisses at the cold, pulling her scarf back up from where it’s fallen and exposed her chin and neck. She doesn’t have to miss him because he’s _right there_ , he’s behind a set of closed doors shutting out the frigid air. He’s in the warmth, he’s surrounded by laughter edging on love. He’s where she wants to be, but she’s standing out in the cold, her hands turning more red and chapped by the moment.

She tries not to read into it that it’s her fault she’s standing in the cold, that if she could only move she’d be with them. She tries to focus on the regret of not wearing gloves, if only so that she can stand outside just a little longer, but instead she’s blinded by bright lights that bore through the back of her head and the cold sending tendrils of ice through her bones. She’s trapped by so much more than the people she’s known for so long now, the ones that have been there for her for the past five years.

The one’s who hold enough accountability to prevent her from telling them the truth.

Resentment and guilt definitely do not roll freely in her stomach, so she focuses on each step. Each step and then reaching for the door. Reaching for the door and then scanning the crowd for their usual booth.

It’s strange, really, how something that was considered such a constant in her life could be destroyed so easily. Once everything fell apart she thought this would all be gone too. She’d hoped the cantina, even, would disappear from the streets of Coruscant once it heard what happened. So she most certainly didn’t think their booth would still be there, or that they’d still spend time crowded around the same beer sticky table again.

She’s still standing in the entrance, but she’s wondering how many times they’ve been here without her.

“Meetra!” Mission calls, smiling as though she wasn’t actually expecting her to show up. Meetra supposes it’s okay, because she hasn’t really given anyone a reason to believe her.

“Hey,” she says as she approaches the table. Mission is curled into Dustil’s side, sitting across from Mira and Bao. Meetra can only assume Atton is next to them, because she doesn’t look in that direction. Instead she focuses on Mical, taking the empty spot next to him as he offers her a warm smile, pretending that she can’t look up to see Atton across from her.

“Finally,” Mira says, pushing a lock of hair behind her ears. “Haven’t seen you in ages.”

Meetra smiles, but she knows they all know the reason she hasn’t been around. Instead she offers a, “Been busy,” and that’s the end of that.

She listens for a majority of the time, she has her arms folded over each other as Bao goes on about teaching engineering courses at the Academy. Mission’s listening as well, but Meetra can tell Dustil is too enamored with the Twi’lek next to him to pay attention to the conversation. Mira goes on about wanting to get more involved like Mical, who now heads the Order alongside Bastila, who still needs to take time for her son. Everything got a bit messy since Meetra turned down the position.

She’s thoroughly zoned out when she considers sneaking a peek at Atton. It’s pretty pathetic, actually, the way she pretends to look over his shoulder at the rest of the cantina before focusing her eyes on him. And, well, he’s already looking right at her. She feels the warmth of Mical next to her, but it’s Atton’s gaze fixated on hers that makes her stomach drop. His eyes are still the same milky grey that she’d first met over five years ago, holding the same love she’s not sure ever left even when he did.

He looks good, if she’s going to be honest with herself. His skin isn’t worn the same as hers is, not stretched thin or purpled from weariness. She absently wonders how he feels, if it’s even close to the same as she does, and how he’s obviously handling it so much better than her. It stirs a certain rawness in the pit of her stomach and she’s never felt more exposed than she does when she’s looking at him, when he’s looking _back_.

Atton takes a glance at the rest of the table, everyone’s too entranced by some story about Mira’s recent trip back to Dxun with Canderous to notice. Looking back at her, his eyes narrow slightly, and his lips form words that are barely audible, “Are you ok—?”

“Atton,” she cuts him off, his name foreign to her tongue. and that—that’s just too much. She digs her nails in the flats of her palms to calm herself down, watching as his brows knit together at her obviously pained expression. She shakes her head. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

At first he recoils, but his face softens in understanding and God, she just wants to make it all go away. He opens his mouth to say something, but she shakes her head, getting up from the table. All eyes are on her as she puts her coat on, frowns etched onto their faces before she even speaks. “Sorry kiddos, grandma has to get going, ‘m too old for these kinds of things.”

Mission shakes her head but she smiles, nearly crawling over Mical to get up from the booth as well. “Sure, sure, you’re doing a great job of covering up the grey. I’ll walk you home, yeah?”

At first she wants to refuse, she wants to say that she’ll be fine on her own, but she can feel Atton’s gaze on her and she needs to get out of there as quickly as she can, so she agrees, hooking her arm through Mission’s on the way out.

“You did great,” Mission says quietly once they’re out on the street. Meetra is silent for a long moment, not wanting to deny it even though she knows she _didn’t_ do great. She fled at the first interaction between her and Atton in over a month. She feels vaguely pathetic, and even worse for letting Mission think that she’s holding herself together when she can feel herself ripping at the seams.

Mission speaks up again once Meetra’s building is in sight. “Dustil says he wants to get married.”

This catches Meetra’s attention. She smiles down at their linked arms. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time, Mish,” she says before she pulls her into her arms, wrapping her tightly because this girl deserves so much and she’s so, so happy for her.

Mission smiles when they pull apart. “It’s been a long time coming, I guess. We’ve been together since before you lot arrived on the scene.”

“Is he going to be okay living here full time instead of Telos?” Meetra asks once they start walking again.

“We’ve talked about it and yeah, I mean that’s where Carth is and where he grew up, but it’s not really his home, you know? It’s been so long since he’s lived there that it doesn’t feel like the natural place to settle down.”

Meetra smiles again. “I’m glad you have him, you guys are good for each other.”

“Yeah,” she says into the quiet of the empty street. The lights seem dimmer, if possible, that kind of distant hazy glow that Meetra thinks sometimes isn’t real. It’s quiet, too quiet for Coruscant but she likes it, it suits how she’s feeling.

“Hey Mee?”

Meetra glances over at her, the dim lights reflecting across the blue of her skin, and yeah, infinity is definitely in there somewhere.

“Yeah?”

“Do you miss him?”

Meetra turns her head away, they’re approaching her building but she feels like she’s walking in slow motion. As long as her and Atton have been apart no one has really asked her that. It’s one question she’s not really sure she can answer, maybe not right now, maybe not honestly, anyways.

She ends up not answering at all, only aware of time passing by the speeders overhead as they stand outside the door to her building. It’s not awkward, exactly, just quiet and Meetra’s silently thankful that Mission’s not pushing it.

That is, until she speaks up again.

“You know,” Mission begins, “he’s still here Mee, he’s not going anywhere.”

“You make it sound like he’s waiting for me.”

Her delicate shoulders are pulled up in a small shrug. “Maybe he is.”

“Don’t,” Meetra starts, finding that she doesn’t really have anywhere to go from there. “Don’t do that.”

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I mean he’s not exactly the one to blame here, you know?”

Meetra thinks she might nod, maybe she says something but it’s so hard to _focus_ because she’s so numb. The only tangible thought in her head is that her blood’s frozen and she can’t move her arms, can’t move her legs or blink or maybe breathe.

But then she can, and her back is turned and she’s heading in through the door, trying to keep her knees locked as she stands in the lift and hopes in whatever Force she still holds onto that she can make it to her flat where she absolutely does not cry.

\--

Meetra remembers him. He was as warm as her two month reprieve on Tatooine, where she first heard Revan had died by the hands of Malak. It was the biggest news the galaxy had seen in some time, and praises of Bastila and her battle meditation already began. News spreading that there was a _chance_ now.

It’s silly, really, because Meetra knows now that the Republic will always find some way to prevail, whether they have someone like Bastila or not. It was never lost and it never will be.

But his smirk is still imprinted on her mind, his eyes dragging up her barely clothed body as she tried some mock interrogation on him, not knowing what exactly she was getting herself into. He was darker then, but still warm, and his offhand comments were enough to make her bite back more than a few smiles.

She shouldn’t have found him so endearing.

Sometimes she pretends that none of it happened. She pretends that her and Atton met in some seedy cantina, that they had that sappy soulmate moment where they realized they belonged with each other and to each other. It feels ridiculous sometimes, but it’s easier.

It’s easier than remembering the long nights awake on the _Ebon Hawk_ , facing a new war that she might’ve been fighting alone. It felt like that for a long time, until pazaak and smuggled juma became a thing. She tries not to remember the way his lip would curl when he could tell she was bluffing, or when she took a sip too many and had to steady herself by gripping his forearm with everything she had.

It’s hard to remember everything, she supposes, like looking through fogged glass or someone else’s memories. Vague. Like when she found Vash’s body and he held her until they both knew they had to go, or when he finally told her about his past and it felt like she, too, had survived his trauma, the utter pain of losing everything including oneself. And maybe she has, to some degree at least, because they always fit together, always.

She remembers him on Dantooine, she remembers the way the sun would trace his profile, the slope of his nose and the way his lips would part as he smiled. She remembers his courage at Khoonda, she remembers when their dynamic shifted. It doesn’t seem real, almost, that the sleazy jokes and offhand remarks led them to a steady five year relationship. One that she let fall apart because she’s afraid.

So yeah, she pretends that it didn’t happen like that, because that’s what she does now. Pretending is a lot easier than facing the truth.

\--

Another cold morning greets Meetra with the same icy fingers gripping at her arms. She tucks them back under the duvet, pleading for a few more moments of her solitary warmth and escape from work, for once.

Senator Barshay is quickly becoming more of a problem than a solution. The thing is, they need his signature. Meetra and Mission spent weeks revising one of the heavier sections of the Coruscant Accords. They’d planned and wrote, and it was all for the benefit of the Republic, really, so there's no need not to sign. Just another loophole sewn shut, easy.

Except of course, Senator Barshay has yet to do _anything_.

Meetra pretends she doesn’t see the symbolism in it as she heads to the office, but it’s pretty clear. The thing is, she’s _trying_ , she’s honestly trying to make a difference in the one way she knows she can. It’s frustrating that it isn’t working out, but she tries to stay positive, because if she dwells on it too long she realizes there’s no point in forcing anything to happen, it’s all going to go the same way anyways. She doesn’t know what for anymore, but she just needs more time.

She walks into the Senate Building then, greeting Mission once she enters the office. They never discussed what happened outside Meetra’s building a few days ago, but it hasn’t made things awkward between them. It’s not the first time they’ve let the Atton conversation die out, and it probably wasn’t the last, so she figures they can both safely ignore it.

“I’ve got an idea,” Mission says once she greets her.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and I think you’re going to like this one.”

Meetra returns the smile Mission offers her. “Lay it on me.”

“Senator Barshay is throwing a New Years party up in his uppity up posh flat. I say we get ourselves invited and do some heavy negotiating, get him to mention the Accords...or maybe get a little drunk, not sure which one yet.”

Meetra scrunches her nose. “I like the drunk part.”

“I knew you would.”

“I don’t know, Mish,” she says, eyebrows furrowing for a moment, “I’m not sure that he’d really appreciate talking business at a party.”

“It’s wouldn’t be like, _talking business_ ,” Mission says with a shake of her head. “It’s more of getting in the back pocket of the one senator we still need to sign.”

“Did he get the additional file we sent him?”

Mission shakes her head again. “I comm’d his assistant earlier and she said he just kind of...blew past it? Apparently he said he didn’t have the time for it right now. I don’t know why he’s avoiding this, I really don’t. Like, it’s not like we’re changing anything _that_ drastically.” She pauses. “We aren’t, right?”

“No,” Meetra affirms. “No, I just, it’s strange. I can’t say I understand in the slightest.”

They’re both quiet for a long moment, the silence between them filled by rushing speeders and the occasional frozen gust lapping at the window. It draws Meetra’s eyes to the dull city towers looming just past it. She likes them better at night, when they’re illuminated by hazy lights contrasting the blackened sky. She scrunches her nose at the dull durasteel frames, the sun bouncing off the glass of the windows, because there’s no life in them now.

“Well,” Mission says, breaking the silence. “It can’t hurt to talk to him in person, right?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Free alcohol?”

Meetra cracks a smile. “You’ve got me there. What about everyone else though, surely they’ll miss your presence at whoever’s throwing a New Years party?”

“And yours.”

“And mine,” Meetra amends. “Really though, you shouldn’t have to miss out for some silly senator’s party.”

Mission frowns. “You want to go by yourself?”

“It would only make sense, right?”

“Not necessarily,” Mission says, the corners of her lips still tugging down. “I’ll be there for you, Mee, you don’t have to like...give up your New Years for my sake.”

She cracks a smile. “No, I’m saying just the opposite. I know you want to spend time with them, so do it.”

“Mee,” she breathes out. “Are you sure? We’re a team, you know. The Dream Team.”

Meetra nods. “I know, but I can handle one party on my own, I promise. It’ll be better than that bottle of wine I’ve been saving.”

Mission’s frown only grows.

“I’m joking,” Meetra assures. “I’m not _that_ pathetic.”

Mission cracks a smile but shakes her head. “As long as you’re not telling me you’re too old to go or whatever. Charm the pants off Barshay, okay? Not—no not literally.”

Meetra laughs, the sound spilling past her lips without her permission. “We’ll see about that, Mish.

\--

She remembers their first night together on Coruscant. It was a week after they’d decided to move in together and everything was still new, they were still adjusting, still planning, still thrilled about the newness that they’d all received after the end of a long and arduous year of fighting against forces greater than themselves.

And the thing is, they _won_. Atton may have had a nasty new scar from Sion, but he’d lived, and he continued to stay with Meetra even when she gave him the chance to go find himself on his own. At first it was always the stunning realization that neither wanted to find themselves separately, it was together, always together since that first day on Peragus.

Atton took her to a local coffee shop that night, and God, it felt so late but it was exciting because they were finally doing all the normal things that they both missed out on in life. They drank coffee and shared a piece of cake, they laughed until Meetra thought she’d be sick, though that could've been the frosting, but it felt so right she wanted to burst out of her skin.

“Do you think we would’ve met if neither of us ended up on Peragus?,” he’d asked.

She’d smiled, but shook her head. “Please tell me you’re not going to get all sappy on me now, Rand.”

“Think about it, though,” his smirk a bit petulant. “Of all the people in the galaxy, you and I end up together. I think the Force was out to get us.”

“Romantic.”

“Oh, tell me you’re not impressed by my grand idea of soulmates Mee, that somehow two people who are obviously meant to be together just happen to end up in the same abandoned mining facility.”

She’d had to bite back a smile, so helplessly endeared by him. “Maybe.”

He’d taken too large a spoonful of cake, messy from frosting and clashing silverware, his eyes daring her. She’d only responded with a glare, hooking one of her ankles around his.

And it was a quiet moment, one they later deemed important. They also deemed the coffee shop as theirs, making it a place where they would retreat to when things got tough or when they had no idea what to do, out of plans and out of money. They’d always have a place to go.

Meetra hasn’t been there in months.

\--

Traces of that first night still linger in her mind. She’s cleaning the kitchen because it’s the middle of the night and she has nothing else to do. She tried sleeping, but that only proved to agitate her, her limbs growing uncomfortable and the duvet snaking around her body too much. So she got out of bed, and here she is, rifling through their old junk drawer.

Mostly it’s just bills and documents that she’d needed hard copies of at one point. There’s a strange amount of comlinks as well, she’s not sure they’ve even used them, but her hands slip past them and towards an object tucked away in the back of the drawer. Her hands clasp around its familiar shape, a deck of pazaak cards, and she drops it immediately.  

There’s not even a proper case around them, just a worn thin rubber band holding the deck together. It’s the one Atton carried with him on the _Ebon Hawk_ , the one that was in his pocket the moment they met. He’d put them away as a memento and got himself a new deck once they moved to Coruscant, and seriously, it's such an Atton thing to do to store them in their junk drawer.

The cards feel different now, though. She’s clasped them in her hands plenty of times, but right now they feel foreign, like they belonged to someone else entirely. And maybe that’s how much she’s changed, that she can’t even bring herself to feel the same as she did five years ago. It’s confusing, really, how empty she feels, how the only direction she knows is the one she cannot take.

She pockets the cards, not really up for finishing the drawer. She puts away the documents she needs to keep and tosses the rest aside, trying in earnest to forget about the cards because really, they’re just cards.

She repeats that to herself as she gets settled in for bed once more.

They’re just _cards_.

\--

The morning he left had been just like any other, except for the fact that he was up long before her. She remembers the outlines of his fully clothed back as he rested his forearms against the kitchen counter, his head left to hang as he stood there, still. He didn’t turn around, they’d been close enough to always have a sense of where one another was, except at this point they’d lost that. The silences had stretched on too long, they closed each other out of themselves and it made more of a difference than Meetra at the time would ever admit.

Despite the distance between them she knew what was happening the moment he turned around, his eyes meeting hers for what felt like the first time in weeks. Maybe it was, she’s not sure, but the hollowness wading in the pools of his eyes was too much for her to handle, so she went about her morning as usual.

By the time she poured herself a cup of coffee he’d moved a leather bag out into the living room, and she wasn’t looking at him but she could see him facing her through her peripheral. She let the coffee burn her tongue, anything as an excuse to put him out of her mind, to pretend that it wasn’t happening, wasn’t real.

“Mee,” he’d said, “At least look at me.”

She did, and she’ll never forget the weight hanging between them. She’d had to bite her lip, preventing any _I’m sorry_ , or _please don’t leave_ from slipping past. She regrets the pride, she regrets doing what she thought was right to prevent the fear from holding on. She regrets the silence that she held onto as he walked out the door.

He’d stopped, though, he hesitated a second, his hand inches away from opening it. He’d twisted his head back to look at her, his voice quiet, “You know I can’t do this anymore, Mee, but just because we aren’t together doesn’t mean I won’t need you. Bao said I could stay with him, so uh, that’s where I’ll be if you ever, you know, need me too.”

And he was gone, and the cup of coffee in her hands may or may not have shattered against the counter, not where she could still feel the traces of him.

\--

Meetra had hoped to avoid another cantina outing. Mission invited her out again and she’d offered her usual _I’m too old_. At first it worked, Mission let it go and Meetra assumed she could go on with her usual evening plans, which did include a bottle of wine she’d picked up on the way home.

What she wasn’t expecting, however, was a certain Twi’lek to show up in the middle of her half-thawed frozen dinner with Dustil in tow, demanding that she go out anyways. And okay, it’s really hard to deny her, especially when she’s invading Meetra’s closet and finding her clothes to wear no matter how many times she says she doesn’t want to go.

Meetra stands in the doorway, watching as Mission holds up an old sweater she used to wear most winters. The collar was always too big but proved to be perfect for nestling the lower half of her face in when the wind was too much. She takes it from Mission, muttering a quiet okay, and pats the girl’s bum on her way out of the bedroom.

She hesitates before sliding the sweater on, it feels familiar and strange all at once, like it belonged to someone else. She hesitates before leaving the bedroom, moving over to her nightstand to pocket Atton’s pazaak deck, figuring she can return them if he’s there tonight. Maybe he won’t want them, but it doesn’t really matter to her, she more needs to get rid of them than to keep holding on. She needs to let go and that hurts more than she thought it would.

And she already thought it would hurt a lot.

Mission and Dustil are waiting in her living room, carrying on some quiet, small conversation. They look comfortable, happy, and Meetra’s really not jealous or anything. She misses the way it is to be with someone like that, but Mission and Dustil are happy and she doesn’t want to take that away from them, so she smiles once they look over to realize she’s emerged from the bedroom, sweater and all.

Her jacket fits snug over the sweater, but she’s warm as they enter the streets that are almost impossibly colder than before. She listens as Dustil and Mission talk, icy air slipping between their lips with each breath. They walk quickly, and she knows if it weren’t for Dustil and Mission she’d turn around at the sight of the cantina’s hazy glow. It’s the same cantina, but she swears it’s less welcoming this time, as if it’s wondering why she’s come crawling back.

She can only afford a quick glare at the sign, pressed lips smiling when Dustil holds the door open for her.

Atton, Mira, Mical, and Bao and Visas are already sat at the booth, Atton and Mira already in some debate that Meetra’s not sure anyone will ever understand. They look up at the same time, Atton’s smile broadening slightly at the sight of her. She finds herself smiling back, not sure if that’s what’s appropriate for the moment, but then decides it doesn’t really matter.

Meetra sits down next to Dustil as Mira speaks up, “Oi, I thought you guys were skipping out on us, we were waiting to order drinks until you showed up.”

“She says that like she hasn’t already been drinking,” Atton says with a pointed glance at the empty glass on the table.

“You make me sound like a bleeding alcoholic,” she answers, glancing around the at the rest of them, “Which I’m not.”

Bao laughs, “Don’t worry about it, we’ll just catch up.”

Mira glares at him, but doesn’t push it any further. Instead, Bao nudges Mission’s hand across the table, “So how’s Carth taking the news?”

Mission and Dustil steal a glance at each other before she breaks into a smile, “Really well, actually. I mean I’ve always felt apart of the family, so I guess it’s just kind of official now.”

“Almost,” Dustil says.

“You guys are sickening,” Mira says, turning to Meetra, “I don’t know how you work with her, the endless romantic drabble would drive me insane.”

“Hey!” Mission cries out, smile plastered to her face, “I’m not that bad!”

"She's not," Meetra agrees, "But I mean, what kind of friends are we if we don't criticize her for finding true love while the rest of us rot? Except for Bao, of course."

Bao-Dur looks a bit surprised at that. His own relationship with Visas is still in the works and Meetra feels only marginally sorry for throwing him under the bus, but it’s enough to deflect from the fact that she'd mentioned being single. She avoids Atton's gaze, but everyone else is still talking around them.

"We're lucky we have Mical or the whole Order would be corrupt," Mira notes.

"Funny," he says, but Meetra doesn't think it's very funny.

The table goes quiet for a moment, and Meetra supposes it's because talking about the Order has always been a touchy subject, especially since Atton never agreed to be apart of it after Malachor, and Meetra left without any explanation why. The thing is she can't very well tell them, it's gone too far past and she's only acted out of fear. It's already changed everything and she doesn't want to hurt them any more than she has to, doesn't want to hurt herself more than she already has.

Mission breaks the tension by talking about the right time of year to get married, the warmer weather, she thinks, but Meetra likes the cold. She's helpless when it comes to bundling up, her scarf tight around the lower half of her face and the exhilarating rush between inside and outside.

"I'd get married in the winter," Atton says, and Meetra pretends that he's not looking right at her.

"As if you'd get married, flyboy," Mira says with the quirk of an eyebrow, "That would require, you know, actually settling down."

He frowns, "I've settled down quite nicely, I think. Me and Bao have a good thing going on, don't we?"

"Oh it's great," Bao-Dur agrees with the smallest amount of sarcasm.

Atton laughs, "I'd be offended, but I think he just wants to get some alone time with Visas."

Bao-Dur immediately looks away and the whole table laughs at that. He's a good sport though, never one to outwardly complain about anything, and Meetra can tell that he's not completely opposed to the attention.

"Don't act like you'll miss me when I leave," Atton says as Bao-Dur's lips press into a tight line.

"You know I will," he answers, "Just, I'm not so sure about the mess."

Meetra would normally laugh at that, mainly because she knows how messy Atton is, but she's confused. "Where are you going?"

His face falls marginally, "I uh, Carth hooked me up with a job on Telos, I'm flying over in a few weeks."

She can feel everyone's eyes on her, but she only nods, lips pressed into a smile, "Good for you."

He half-smiles, like he’s not sure how to take that. "Thanks."

It's quiet for a moment after that, the only sound is of glasses hitting the table and the dull thrum of music in the background. It's gotten to that time where the lights go down a bit, masquerading the dance floor with only blinking spots of light to illuminate the swell of bodies gathered there.

The conversation picks back up again as Bao-Dur recounts a new project he's working on. Meetra doesn't really pick up on the details, instead letting her eyes wander the walls of the cantina, begging for the night to end before she has to flee under her own volition. The last thing she wants is to chicken out again, to not be able to handle the conversation and the words that she thinks might actually have the power to destroy the walls she's set in place.

It's just hard, to think that Atton is picking up and leaving in a few weeks, or whenever he said he was going. It feels final, she thinks, like this is it, and she can either do something about it or let it happen. She hates it, but she know which she'll choose already.

By some miracle she makes it until everyone gets too tired to keep drinking, too burnt out on conversation and each other's company. She pulls on her coat, covering the old sweater that she'd caught Atton glancing at more than once. She's in the middle of wrapping her scarf around her neck when she notices Atton lingering behind everyone else.

"Can I walk you home?" he asks, his gaze uncertain, lip pulled tight on one side.

Meetra nods, because she's not entirely sure she could speak at the moment, or whether or not the answer would be the same if she could. She's forcing herself this way, she supposes, and she's not entirely sure why.

The dark streets are too familiar, almost, even moreso than when she walked the distance by herself. With him, though, it feels just like all those nights spanning across the past five years, their footsteps set in stone, next to each other. It feels right, it feels like everything she's been missing for the past month, it feels like he's still in her life, that though she hasn't been seeing him, he's still there.

Her hands are cold though, she forgot her gloves again back in her flat, and really, it's not a far walk, but Atton seems to notice. He wraps his own gloved hand around hers, not meeting her gaze when she glances down at their linked fingers and up at his profile.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," he says, squeezing her hand just a little tighter, and really, it feels like nothing's changed. It feels that way even though she has work tomorrow, and the next day and the day after that and every day to ensure she's distracted from life, from him.

She shakes her head, "It's not like I gave you the opportunity to."

He nods, she knows it's partially because it's true, but hopes it’s because he's just thinking.

"You know," he says after a short moment, "I never thought—"

"Wait," she interrupts, pulling her hand from his and reaching it into her pocket. He gives her a dark glance until she's pulled the pazaak deck from her pocket and is holding it out for him.

His hands surround hers as he takes it, a wary, but familiar expression etched onto his features.

"This is, um," he starts.

Meetra nods, "I know."

He pulls them out of the rubber band, taking off his gloves and tugging it up his wrist before his fingers slide over the cards, spreading them in his hands before he gives them his usual shuffle. She smiles because she hasn't seen it in a long time, and maybe not since the _Ebon Hawk_.

They're quiet until they reach her building, achingly so when they stop walking and Atton stops shuffling the cards between his hands, keeping them occupied and away from hers. He glances up at the stairs, his eyes reaching the doorway that used to be his home. She wonders absently if this is the first time he's seen it since he left. She knows it is.

"I—" he starts, but doesn't finish for a long moment, one that Meetra lets sit between them because she isn't really sure what to say either. What she doesn't expect, however, is for his arms to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug. She lets the palms of her hands rest on his back, but doesn't pull him any closer, letting this short amount of distance be enough.

She wishes she had more. She wishes she could offer an _I'm sorry_ or an _I didn't want you to leave_ , but she's left empty, devoid of words or any comfort as the hug lasts distinctly longer than it should. He's the first to pull away, his eyes drawn down to hers, muttering a quiet, "Goodnight."

She's turning her back to go up the stairs when she hears him say her name again. She turns, looking down at his expectant eyes, almost pleading as he stands there for a quiet moment, words begging to fall from his parted lips.

"I miss you," is what he says, and Meetra nods. She nods and turns, entering her building with shaking hands.

\--

Meetra doesn't necessarily believe in solutions. She doesn't know what could fix the ache in her chest or fill the hollowness of her thoughts, she doesn’t think there’s anything to stop the bitter feeling creeping up the back of her neck, spreading like a web over her bruised mind.

The answer isn't in his slate eyes or in the vastness of space, no amount of alcohol or cigarettes could cure the twisted feeling in her spine, the burn of the tips of her fingers of all that's been won and lost. Instead she finds herself sitting on her kitchen floor, legs stretched out in the moonlight passing through the window above her sink.

The shadows twist and refract among the angles of her kitchen, burning new images into her memories, drowning out the ones she's trying to forget. There's one that never fades, though, one that hasn't since it first entered her head.

It was always a dream, she thinks, but it was always more than that. The hole burning through her back was more than just a premonition, it felt like a memory yet to happen. She knows where too, she's seen and felt it countless times since that very first time. The question has always been when.

So she tries to focus on the shadows, her fingernails scratching lightly at the cracks between the kitchen tiles, and she watches as the shadows threaten to swallow her whole. Dark against light against dark.

She doesn't know what that means.

\--

Mission's eyes are slow as they trace Meetra's face the next morning. Her own youthful features twisting into a frown as she immediately opens her arms for a hug, which Meetra readily accepts.

"You look like hell," Mission breathes into her neck.

Meetra nods, because it's all she can do without having to explain why she didn't sleep or why she didn't bother to dress in her usual work clothes even though she knows she should. This way she doesn't have to tell her that Atton misses her and she misses him, and yet they can't be together, that he's leaving and there's a chance they'll never be together again.

But Mission catches on even without words.

"I should've told you about Atton," she says as she pulls away from the hug, "I'm really sorry, Mee."

Meetra shrugs, "Don't worry about it." She goes for nonchalant, but it sounds more strangled than anything else, and really, she should've taken the day off.

But that's just not what she does.

Mission shakes her head, "No, it's not like he’s dying to go. It’s hard on him too, and I don't think he'll ever give up on the possibility of the two of you getting back together."

"Okay."

"No," Mission says more adamantly this time, "It's not something you can say 'okay' to, and I know I should've told you, but Meetra you're not listening to me. You're upset, that much is obvious, but has it occurred to you that you can fix this? That neither of you have to suffer over something you both want?"

"It's not that simple, Mish."

"He's leaving, I think you can make it a lot more simple than whatever you think it has to be. It's just Atton, you know? He still loves you, but you can't expect him to just wait around until you've realized that you guys should be together."

“It’s not that simple,” Meetra repeats, her voice a bit sharper as she focuses on the palms of her hands before her.

“Why?” Mission presses.

“I can’t explain it in a way that would make sense. Not right now.”

“I just don’t understand what could’ve happened between you two,” she says quietly, and Meetra can feel her eyes on her.

A long minute passes before Mission says anything again. “You’ll tell me eventually, right?”

Meetra nods, but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look over at Mission. She just keeps her hollow stare at the edge of the window, not making herself look at the dull spires beyond it. She keeps her stare steady and that’s it, that’s all she has because she can’t explain herself, she can’t talk about it because there’s so much more underneath the surface of it. There’s so much more than her and Atton splitting in two, too much more to explain right now.

“Yeah,” she says eventually, the time between their words so long Meetra’s not sure she even remembers what she’s agreeing to. All she remembers is slate eyes and white heat searing through her stomach, and that very well can’t be explained when she’s unsure if she really understands it herself.

Mission exhales softly, her footsteps moving across the room the only sound besides the speeder traffic outside. “Barshay’s party is this weekend,” she says.

“Yeah,” Meetra huffs with a slight laugh, “I think I’m saving all my charm for then.”

“You’ve got that right,” Mission says seriously, but dissolves into a laugh of her own and for a second the moment is broken. Meetra’s not sure if Mission’s smile is defeated or genuine, but she’ll take it either way.

“I’m sorry, Mish,” she says, like it’s something easy to be sorry for, “I just need time, yeah?”

Mission looks like she’s going to say something, hesitating before she nods, “Okay.”

Meetra nods too, “Okay.”

And the day goes on, just like every other, but time is a factor now. Maybe it always was, maybe Meetra was always teetering on the edge of losing everything she’s been holding on too tightly to. She doesn’t have the time now, but maybe she never did.

\--

“I‘m too old for parties,” Meetra mumbles, watching Mira and Mission in the reflection of her mirror. They’re both seated at her bed while she attempts to make her haggard eyes look more alive. Nothing doing, though, everytime she watches them in the mirror she can see death and emptiness pooling in them.

Makeup sucks.

“If you’re old then I’ve got very little to look forward to,” Mira says with a snort, “Besides, you just need a little excitement in your life. You go from killing three Sith Lords to working the nine to five, obviously it’s going to feel like you’ve slowed down.”

“You know she’s right,” Mission adds, meeting her gaze through the mirror, “You’re allowed to have a night out and have fun.”

“Find yourself a hottie or summat.”

“Or,” Mission interrupts, “And I believe this is the better option, go and make friends with Senator Barshay.”

Meetra huffs out a small laugh, “I’m sure Barshay will be utterly charmed.”

Mira looks between them, “Is he attractive?”

“No,” Mission answers for her, “Not even a little bit, god Mira that’s not the focus here.”

Mira looks a bit perturbed, but offers an innocent face as she busies herself finding patterns on the ceiling. Meetra shakes her head, giving up on the makeup because it’s not the same, it’s never the same, and all it does is remind her of her Revanchist days. Of the hours she’d gone through, of her painted lips and pale face, of the mask laid bare in plain sight, all done for the one who would destroy her.

“Don’t worry Mish,” she says as she looks away from her reflection, “It’s fine, I know what I’m supposed to do and all that lot.”

“Good, because you need to get going, you only have like, fifteen minutes if you want to be there on time.”

Meetra’s in the middle of plaiting her hair to one side, “I thought I had to arrive fashionably late?”

“That’s for normal parties,” Mira answers instead, “You’re trying to woo a senator, shouldn’t arrive late.”

Meetra just shakes her head and gets up from where she's sitting. She's wriggling into her boots as Mira and Mission make their way to the door and put their coats on, the sentimentality of the New Year starting to set in as she watches the two interact.

They look over then, Mission's face softening into a smile as she hugs Meetra goodbye. "Good luck," she says as she pulls away, "I know you'll slay him."

"Figuratively, of course," Mira adds as she hugs Meetra as well.

Meetra smiles at the two, "Thanks guys, I'm sure it'll be fine."

They both say their goodbyes and then it's Meetra alone in her flat, eyeing the room before she huffs out a breath and pulls on her gloves, then her coat.

She wraps her scarf around her neck as she heads out, and she can see her own reflection in the glass door of the entrance, the mirror effect enhanced by the blackness behind it. She looks tired, always tired, so she doesn't hesitate to push open the door with more force than necessary.

The cold air makes her eyes water, and she has to blink hard while a few stray snowflakes attempt to make it in her eyes, sticking to her hair and on top of her scarf, where they rest like white flecks of the moon, illuminated like the bright lights above her.

She takes a taxi mostly because it's too cold otherwise. Senator Barshay doesn't live too far from her but the snow picks up the moment she heads that way, seemingly making up her mind for her. The taxi isn't much warmer, but the snow isn't blowing in her eyes and that makes all the difference to her.

Mission was right about Barshay's flat, it's bigger than most of the ones she's been to, the first floor itself is roughly double the size of hers. She knows there's another level, but it's hard to find the stairs because the rooms are already thrumming with people, crowds gathered and divided in the living room, kitchen, branching off into the smaller rooms around.

Most people are at least half drunk already, and Meetra's hopeful to join them once she actually finds Barshay and has some sort of conversation with him. She's not sure what she's going to say yet, hoping that it'll come naturally enough to prevent it from sounding too rehearsed or preachy. All she needs to do is mention the revision and hopefully explain away whatever reservation he has.

"Ms. Surik."

Turns out she doesn't have to go looking for him.

She angles her head towards the sound of his voice, and Mission was certainly wrong about his appearance. He's a bit larger than life, really. Besides his slicked back hair, his beard extends past his chin, full and dark. He stands at about the same height as Canderous, she supposes, taller than her at least, and his eyes are wide, a unique shade of grey not dissimilar to Atton’s.

"Senator Barshay," she greets, accepting his hand as he pulls hers to his lips.

"To what do I owe the honor of greeting the New Year with one of the Republic's greatest heroes?"

She shakes her head, "I heard there would be free drinks."

"Of course,” he laughs, “A little party never killed nobody.”

She smiles too, but before she has the chance to answer, his lips twist into a suspicious smirk.  "This is about the Accords revision, isn't it?"

"Guilty."

He lets out another small laugh, his clear eyes crinkling with the smile that follows, "And you want to sway my decision?"

Meetra shrugs slightly, shifting her weight beneath her, "I suppose it’s worth a shot, right?"

His smile stays. "Well, I suppose I’m still deciding. Drink up, Ms. Surik. Enjoy the party," he says, lifting his own drink to his lips before excusing himself.

She watches him for a moment after, the way he greets his other guests, making his way through the crowd like the groomed politician he is. And, well, their entire plan boiled down into a minute's worth of conversation isn't very impressive, especially considering he could see right through her, but she doesn't consider it a failure. Planting seeds, that's all.

\--

For a moment she considers just going home, forgetting that this all happened and carrying on with her life, but she doesn't particularly feel like ringing in the New Year with a bottle of wine and dull lights passing through her empty apartment. Besides, the snow is blowing in mesmerizing patterns and despite her earlier reservations, she wants to stand in it.

She's surprised at how many people are on the balcony. She clutches her drink just a bit tighter, the warmth already spreading through her veins, but sitting heavily in her stomach. It's a tumultuous moment, the one where she realizes she's alone facing a New Year, one that makes her wonder if it's worth it to stay on Coruscant as she is. It's one that forces her to consider the consequences of going against fate, or whatever the Force means to her anymore.

But it's a moment that is quickly dissolved by the snowflakes resting in her hair, keeping frozen and still long enough for her to make out their individual shapes. She keeps her gaze fixated on them as she breathes through her nose and the moment passes, lost like the others, the ones she refuses to acknowledge.

And maybe fate does exist, maybe the Force is pushing her in a direction she doesn't understand, but she wants to laugh out loud when she notices the familiar outline of a back leaning over the balcony’s edge.

She doesn't say anything, merely sidling up next to Atton on his left, her eyes tracing the icy spires surrounding them. It's the highest she's been in a long time, surpassing her own tiny flat by a longshot, and she's almost forgotten how perfect a view can be. The sides of the towers are half white, half illuminated light.

The falling snow echoes into the night, a halcyon silence fills the air around them despite the crowd shifting like an amoeba behind them. She can feel Atton's gaze on her now, can feel his warmth nearly surrounding her, its stark contrast to the frigid air more than welcome.

"I didn't come here to see you," he says, breaking the quiet.

She's slow to answer, "Did you know I'd be here?"

"I figured as much," he says as he shifts his weight, leaning to face her, "Mission kept mentioning Senator Barshay, but said you weren't going to Mical's with the rest of them."

She shakes her head, "Boring party that oughta be."

"Well if neither of us is there," he alludes, his smile as crooked as ever and god, she kinda hates him at the moment.

"So why are you here, then?"

He shrugs, "I wasn't really feeling the whole family reunion thing, and besides Barshay has roots on Alderaan, old family friend or summat."

Her lips twitch to the side and she swears it's only because it's so cold. "I didn't know that."

Atton nods, "I'm not sure it ever came up, it's not important anyway."

"No, I mean, it's fine, I just—I don't know. Five years together and I didn't know you were family friends with Barshay."

"Five years," he repeats, quiet, but his face twists into a smile, "You know, for a second there I thought you were going to ask me to use my connections to convince him to sign whatever you guys are working on."

"The Coruscant Accords."

"Yeah, whatever, I wouldn’t do it anyway."

She frowns, if only to prevent herself from smiling, "It's important though, it determines how a planet can join the Republic."

"Doesn't matter."

"You're still a little shavit, you know that?" she says, not bothering to control the smile edging at her lips. And maybe she hates herself too. She doesn’t think it’s fair if she laughs, it's not fair to what she's given up on to find happiness in what she chose instead. It's precisely why she did it, but that doesn't make it right, doesn't make it fair.

It's such a catch twenty two that she thinks she might be sick.

"There it is," Atton says, his face serious.

"What?"

"That face. You always have it when you're upset or don't want to talk to me. Had it for a long time at the end there."

She bites her lip, eyebrows furrowing, "I know."

The thing is, Meetra can't apologize. She knows it's true and she is sorry, but she can't force the words out of her mouth. Her lips are powerless to form them, and even so, she's not sure how much it would change things.

"I don't get it," he says.

Meetra watches her breath as it freezes and fades before her, taking a long moment to consider it. She swallows thickly before saying, "I don't either, I don't think. I'm not sure I know what I'm doing, but I know it's wrong."

"What is?"

"Just—it's probably better if we don't, Atton."

"No," he says, his eyes are hard before he moves his head towards the view, "It's better if we do, because I meant what I said the other night. I miss you Meetra, and I still need you. I don’t think I’ll ever stop needing you."

"Atton—"

He shakes his head, "No, because you know what? All I've wanted was to protect you, but I don't know how to do that when you won't tell me what's wrong."

"I can't, okay?"

"Meetra."

"Don't."

His head lolls back for a moment before he angles his body completely towards hers, "I don't understand. You give me these bits and pieces but you never actually admit what's been wrong this whole time. I lived with this for four months before I couldn't take it anymore, I feel like I’m suffocating here."

She's quiet for a long time. She lets the heavy air mix between them until she can't even breathe it in anymore, the cold air stabs at her lungs and she has to force it out, but she's okay, she supposes, maybe she can do this.

Or maybe not. She shakes her head, pressing her lips together and turning her attention to the rail of the balcony, dragging her finger along the accumulating snow. She can feel his gaze on her but she can only shake her head again, "I'm sorry Atton, but this is mine to keep."

His smile is nearly sardonic, the lights reflecting against his teeth is almost unbearable to look at. He doesn't say anything though, he merely lets out a small huff of air and lets his face fall again.

It's quiet for a long moment before he speaks again, and she can hear the emotion in his voice. "Do you remember when I told you about my mother?"

She nods because she does. She remembers the dark night, sitting on the floor of their bedroom because the hot summer air was too much to lay in the bed. She remembers the pain he bore, probably still bears, from disappointing his mother, from hurting her the most out of everyone he's hurt, out of everyone he's damaged for life.

She nods because it feels recent, even though it was still early on when they first moved in together. It feels like that night is still alive in her memories, the sticky heat surrounding her even as her teeth threaten to chatter from the cold.

"I never told anyone any of that before, you know," he says, his eyes earnest even as they reflect the lights of the city, "But I knew, that if there was one person who could hold onto that information and wouldn't use it against me, it was you. I knew that it would be safe with you, that I'd be better for it and it wouldn't be mine to bear alone."

She's listening, but she's biting down on the inside of her cheek. He's playing dirty but she thinks that maybe he isn't playing at all.

"I trusted you with it, and I never regretted it. After all I was right, I was safe with you and if you ever have any doubts that I'd do the same for—"

"Please," she interrupts, "I'm just—I'm not ready."

"Meetra."

"No, like I’m literally not ready."

"For what?"

She takes a deep breath before she speaks, terrified she won't be able to get the words past her lips, "For any of it. I liked my life here and somehow living with it destroyed is better than leaving it and—and dying."

His eyes snap up to hers, his face absolutely still as he watches her, his eyes narrowing marginally, "What?"

She shakes her head, the reality of it all settling in for perhaps the first time, "I'm going to die, Atton."


	2. II

_She shakes her head, the reality of it all settling in for perhaps the first time, "I'm going to die, Atton."_

She can hear him breathing, amplified despite the people surrounding them, talking and drinking as if nothing was happening at the edge of the balcony, as if Meetra wasn't letting go of what's hurt her the most.

"You're," he starts but doesn't finish. She breaks his gaze and turns her eyes to his hands gripping the railing, knuckles thinned and surrounded by snow. She's so cold, so absolutely freezing but she can't find it in herself to move, to suggest going inside because right here is where this is happening and she's not sure if anywhere else would suit it so.

Meetra bites her lip, forcing herself to look up at him, she doesn't really know what to say, there's so much and so little at the same time that she's not entirely sure what would come out. She doesn't trust her own lips to tell him why she's been the way she's been for months now, why she let him leave because asking him to stay would mean having this conversation. She doesn't want it.

He frowns then, his icy fingers reaching for hers, his eyes dark but not hard, "Can I come home?"

And just—that completely breaks Meetra, it absolutely destroys the walls she's set in place, already crumbling from her admission. But his softness, the honesty in his voice not even masking the pleading through his lips is too much and not enough and she nods, not able to speak quite yet, but she'll get there. She has to.

They don't talk as they leave Barshay’s flat, they keep their hands linked in the lift but otherwise don't interact. They don't talk in the taxi either, but his presence at her side, the warmth from across the seats is enough to keep her from falling out of her skin or losing whatever she's holding onto to keep herself sane.

Her flat is so empty, devoid of life, but she thinks it was always meant for the two of them, thinks it’s strange walking in the way they have so many times before, but it's just them. The way it should be. It's just them and the deafening silence of the snow mixing with the stars.

They don't turn on any lights, merely shedding the heaviest of their layers until Meetra can't take it anymore and crumbles against his chest. She's not sure how long he holds her there, but it feels like an eternity that she's melded against him, fingers grasping his thin shirt and bunching it at his waist.

She wants to cry, she wants to so bad, but there's so many words left unsaid. Too many for her but not enough for him, and god she hopes she can make him understand without making her go, without pushing her because she's just not ready.

She pulls away and looks up at him, the moonlight is the only way either of them can see and she's silently thankful for the large windows, not yet ready to face the harsh lights of her living room and kitchen.

"Talk to me," he says, as if he hasn't been telling her that for months now.

"I don't know where to start," her voice is quiet and just, she feels so pathetic she's not sure if it was really her that faced the depths of Malachor and lived.

"You might want to explain the whole dying bit," he says, his voice earnest but his smile disbelieving, "That might help out."

She nods. "It's this dream I have, or premonition I guess, whatever the Force is trying to show me. It’s the same every time, and I can feel the lightsaber burning through, here” she says, her hands splaying across his back, searching for the exact spot where she knows it’ll tear through hers, she repeats, “Here."

"And you know for sure it's not just a nightmare?"

She nods again, grimly this time. She has to swallow before she can get the words past. "Revan's there," is all she says, his worn and hollow cheeks pulled to the forefront of her mind.

Atton's slow to speak, his brows furrowed and lips pulled thin. She knows he knows, the words don't have to be said because it was always about Revan, always. It's sickening, because Revan’s held everything she’s had for so long, held everything the galaxy’s had, and she's not sure if she can give him any more, she's not sure if he deserves any more.

Not her life, at least.

He looks pained. "But how can you know?" he asks, and she only notices his grip on her forearms tighten marginally.

"Atton," she starts, taking a quick breath, "We wouldn’t be like this if it was just a dream."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"Because," she says, barely getting the words past, desperate to just get this over with, "Because I knew, Atton, I knew that if I told you it would be real, and if it was real then I’d have to go. I don't want to let anyone down, but it's easier to pretend that Revan can handle everything on his own, and that I'm not compromising everything by staying here. I don't want anyone to know that I'm here because the great Meetra Surik is afraid. That I’m afraid because I know I’m going to die out there. I’m not ready."

"Why weren’t you afraid before?" he asks quietly, as though he's not sure which way to convince her.

"I didn't know what I would be giving up, I guess. I never gave any thought to throwing my life away during the Wars. I never cared and I never wanted to care. I think coming here, being with you and everyone, and all this time that I've been away from it all, I think I realized that I can settle down just like anyone else."

His lips quirk into a smile but his eyes remain sad, he pulls her closer, resting his head in the juncture between her shoulder and neck. "You're not just like anyone else, Mee," he says, his breath hitting her skin, "But you deserve life, you've given too much. Take something, take me. I won’t make you go."

She nods, her chin hitting his shoulder, "Just—just don't leave."

—

He doesn't.

If Meetra didn't know better she'd think things had gone back to normal. It feels like that at first, when she loses herself in her work or when she comes home to him after. It feels like the few months after she'd started working and before he'd left, different though, better.

There isn't that strain, the undercurrent between them and driving them apart because it's all out in the open now. He doesn't push her to leave, which she's grateful for, and he doesn't complain when she goes to work early and comes home late. Somehow he's sacrificing more, but maybe it's worth it just for her to be there with him in the hours between dusk and dawn.

There are days though, ones that drag on and it's hard to grasp what she's giving up by staying, what potential damage she's causing by going against fate or whatever it is that's pushing her. Atton just holds her then, not saying a word because they don’t talk about it, they share looks and glances and she can see the wavering in his eyes, but he’s there for her regardless.

It happens one night in their bedroom. He's holding her, his thumb drawing circles on her waist as they lay awake. It’s something they seldom did but is now a nightly occurrence, just laying next to each other is enough. He holds her a bit tighter than most nights, just a bit closer and it still isn't enough.

She can make out the outline of his eyes, the moonlight shading his nose just enough to get the general shape of it. He's watching her too, and she wonders if her eyes are still dark, if her skin is still pale and her lips pulled tight even though she has him back. She wonders if anything's actually changed because she's just not sure anymore.

"Do you want to talk?" he asks quietly, his voice dipping into the quiet of the room. "Dr. Rand is here to listen."

Her laugh cuts through the silence, too loud and abrupt but she can't help it, shaking her head, "Oh my god, shut up."

"No," he says, his smile hinted at only by the moonlight, "Talk to me, tell me about it."

She shakes her head into the pillow, "No thank you, Dr. Rand."

"It's confidential, you know. Whatever you say now is mine to keep."

Meetra can feel his grip tighten around her waist, fingers moving, itching, threatening to tickle her. She holds back a laugh, "It's also a bore...and a bit morbid, I suppose."

"What is?"

"Everything."

"Meetra," he says more seriously, the last of her name coming out in an exhale, "What are we doing?"

She feels the vague urge to get up and run, but this is probably important. What are they doing? She shakes her head again, "Living."

He's not smiling anymore, "Are you going to leave?"

She hesitates for a long minute, and really, it's such a loaded question. She eventually nods, "Just—not right now."

He turns psychologist again. "And how do you feel about that?"

There's no mirth this time, no happiness lingering behind the words or joking to ease the situation. She swallows roughly. "Guilty, Dr. Rand."

He doesn't say anything else, though his thumb resumes the small circles on her waist and somehow that makes a difference. She closes her eyes, not willing herself to fall asleep but letting whatever happens happen. When she opens them he's still watching her, like someone who knows this won't last forever.

"It's why I took the job, you know," she says, filling the silence once more. "I didn't do it to escape you."

"I never thought that."

She wants to shrug but she's too tightly wrapped in him and the duvet. "I figured that even if I wasn’t going to go after Revan I could at least help out the Republic in another way."

His smile is back, but not out of any amount of joy or happiness. It's soft, a lot like the lighting of the room, filled with the dazed glow of moonlight mixing with city lights. His eyes are soft too, barely made out but still there, still holding her gaze in the dark. "And how do you feel about that?" he asks again.

"Like it's not working."

"You and Mish are doing great things, don't let Revan take that away from you."

"I think I'm starting to realize that Revan's taking everything from me," she says. "And Barshay still hasn't signed. I'm not sure he's even looked at it."

"He will," Atton assures. "God, there's no way he won't. You're brilliant Mee, no matter what you're doing. It's okay, you're okay,” he says, his face drawn tight. He repeats, “It's okay."

It's not okay, though. Nothing feels okay. Accountability means something, after all, and Atton knowing only adds to the guilt that toils through her veins. She's torn, just absolutely, completely torn. She doesn't answer him, just buries her face in the dip of his collar, breathing in his warm skin and holding him tight because at the moment it's all she has. He's all she has and she wants it to be enough.

—

They hold hands the entire walk to the cantina. Meetra remembers her gloves for once, so their grips are wound a bit bulky, but otherwise warm and secure. It's almost too cold to snow. The air is dead and frozen and the flakes don't get a chance to melt together, instead blowing wildly across the streets and sticking to Atton's hair. She makes him stop so that she can admire the individual shapes of them, never having quite believed that they’re all different, all unique and divine in their own way.

He's warm in front of her, their proximity chasing away the cold even as they stand on the deserted street, lights hanging bright above them. His nose brushes against the side of hers, and for a moment they're suspended in each other's space. More than anything it's comforting, as if the simple security of being this close to someone is enough to stop the constant stream of thoughts running through the back of her mind, to slow the current rushing through her body.

His lips meet hers, slightly chapped from the cold but still warm, and her arms circle around his waist, where they remain even after she's got her head buried in his chest. It's cold, but she's content to stay there. It isn't until Atton reminds her that everyone's waiting for them that they finally move again.

The lights from the cantina don't burn as brightly this time. The harsh glow around the edges is replaced by the haze of cold, blurring her vision slightly and bleeding the colors together.

Her hands are clasped around Atton's bicep, but she lets go when he holds the door open for her. She offers him a smile and pretends that nothing else matters, that this is the only moment she has to enjoy and it's hers to keep.

Mission offers her the biggest smile she's seen in a long time. It's the first time her and Atton have actually been together out in public since everything, and she’s just hoping for a low key night even though her nerves are on edge. She sits next to Mission, offering Dustil, Visas, Bao, and Mira all smiles as she settles in across from Atton.

It feels, good, if she's going to be honest with herself. It feels just like old times even though so much has changed. She likes how it doesn't feel wrong, that the sense of comfort isn't misconstrued in any way. It is what it is and she honestly wouldn’t want it any other way.

"You guys are looking cozy," Mira says, her smirk just a bit too obvious.

Atton merely nudges her with his elbow, "Remind me why you aren’t drinking yet?"

"Hilarious. First round’s on you, flyboy," she says with a pointed glare that soon dissolves into a too innocent smile.

He returns the glare, but gets up to go to the bar. Meetra glances at Mira, who’s smiling at her now, raising one eyebrow. Mission says something then, drawing Mira’s attention away and Meetra may or may not breathe a tiny sigh of relief. She’s still not sure how she’s going to explain anything to them, if anything at all, and the less focus on her, the better.

Meetra doesn’t listen as the conversation carries on, instead letting her eyes trace the outline of Atton’s back as he talks to the bartender. She doesn’t even realize she’s staring until he’s headed back to the table, cocky grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Miss me?” he asks.

She wants to answer with a _hardly_ or _I wish_ , but all she’s left with is a hesitant nod, her lips forming a delicate smile because he didn’t ask her seriously, but she knows it means more than that, it always does. Her lips part to speak, but she’s drowned out by Mission.

“Oh my god,” the Twi’lek announces to the entire table, “I love this song.”

Meetra smiles at her, but then Mission is pushing her out of the booth and pulling her hand along with her towards the dancefloor.

Meetra tips her head back slightly, protesting by puffing out her bottom lip and leaning her weight away from Mission, who only shakes her head and jumps around Meetra, arms swinging with the rhythm, legs moving with the heavy beat pounding loudly through Meetra’s chest.

She doesn’t recognize the song, but she indulges Mission by dancing along, albeit a bit awkwardly. She lets her hips swing to the sway of the song, waving her arms around like she actually has an idea of what’s going on. Two hands surround her hips, coming from behind and clutches at the hem of her sweater. She turns her head back, but alas it’s only Atton. She turns in his embrace, facing him and he pulls her further away from Mission so they can dance together.

The songs cuts to another one Meetra doesn’t recognize but her attention is on him. The beat is a lot happier in this one, less heavy and she moves her shoulders and elbows with the happy guitar riff repeated throughout. Atton laughs at her and she’s helpless to laugh too, reaching out and pulling his wrists to move with her.

“Where are your moves from Nar Shaddaa?” he asks, his voice straining to be heard over the loud music, “Those are always a classic.”

She shakes her head rather forcibly, but makes sure her hips sway just a bit more than before. Eyeing him carefully, she thinks that maybe the imperceptible leer perched on his lips is completely innocent. Maybe not. Either way she draws a bit closer and tries not to think about how much she’s missed this.

Because it hasn’t been just a month since Atton left. She knows she lost him long before that, once everything started to unravel she was helpless to do anything but push him away. And dancing with him now in a crowded cantina is almost transformative, it almost brings her back to life after having been missing for so long.

He tangles one hand with hers, bringing it up in an effort to spin her around and, well, it’s rather awkward and she ends up spinning the opposite way, but she turns back into him and sways in the same motion, chests pressed together and the beat thrumming heavily through her bones.

She feels like she’s swimming, like her head is spinning but she _is_ spinning, and it feels like she can breathe again. It isn’t until a slower song comes on that she’s able to catch up to her thoughts, catch up to everything, really, and Atton’s embrace is warm as they move together to the careful chords of the song.

The words pound through her head, helped by Atton mumbling along in her ear, holding her just a bit closer. She closes her eyes and lets it all in. She can feel him, just the faintest notion through the Force, the tiniest tendrils reaching out, and she takes it. She lets him in and it’s so warm, there’s so much warmth thawing her frozen heart.

 _She’s_ warm.

Meetra pulls her fingers through the soft hair at the nape of Atton’s neck, dragging them down the top few knobs of his spine until he leans down and places a chaste kiss against her lips.

At some point the song ends and they head back to the table, surprised that Mira’s the only one left. Meetra glances over her shoulder to see Mission and Dustil, and Bao-Dur and Visas heading back as well, saving a particularly cheeky grin for Bao, whose hand is resting against Visas’ waist.

“You guys all suck,” Mira complains, “And so does Mical for not showing up so I’m not the only one alone.”

"Anyway," Mission cuts in as if no one really cared where that particular thread of conversation was heading, which is the case entirely, her voice happy, "Big Z and Jolee are on their way here. Once they heard the news there was no stopping them."

Meetra’s lips fall into a smile, mostly because it's been years and she has still yet to meet Jolee.

“That’s great, Mission,” Bao says.

She nods, her enthusiasm a bit more than endearing, "It's just so exciting, the whole gang's finally getting back together."

"Except for Revan," Mira adds, and Meetra half chokes on her drink. It burns the entire way down, invading her lungs and branching out through her airways. She refuses to make a scene, instead keeping her mouth shut and trying to breathe steadily through her nose as she feels Atton's boot graze against hers.

She looks up at him, at his sympathetic eyes, and the rest of the table is still talking but Meetra can't hear them, she can't look away from his slate gaze, not when she can see her future in them. Only seconds pass, but it feels like so much longer.

"Meetra?" she hears Bao-Dur say, his quiet features twisted with concern.

She goes to answer but her lungs burn the second she opens her mouth. She has to let out a long and loud cough until it nearly wracks her body thoroughly like poison through her system.

It's too late though, she's held it in too long and she doesn't have time to think but it feels like the alcohol is burning a hole through the front of her chest. Everyone's attention is turned towards her, their eyes worried and she doesn't want it.

She's still coughing when she gets up from the table, she wants to close her eyes but she needs to find the door, every movement violent as she desperately seeks air. The coughing doesn't stop once she's trying to breathe the frozen air in through her nose in long, steady breaths. It does nothing to stop the burn of her lungs, more from the coughing than the alcohol now, but it won’t end. Her lungs stab with pain each time the air is ripped from her throat and gulped back in, and it isn’t until she can feel tears burning hot at the corners of her eyes that it slows.

Atton's there at some point, she thinks it's once the coughing stops but she can't be sure. She didn't bring her jacket so she's fairly certain that she's frozen straight through to the bone, but he's brought it and he's draping it over her back. All the warmth from the evening is a distant memory, destroyed by her shaking hands and unsteady breaths.

"Thank you," she says, her voice absolutely shot. She doesn't push it.

"It's okay," he answers, helping her up, "You're going to be okay."

He wraps her in his arms where she can only shake her head, her hands fisted in the front of his shirt to try and keep warm but it's not enough. Nothing about this is ever enough and she was a fool to think it could be.

"I told them I'd take you home," he says into her shoulder, and he's reaching into her coat pocket, extracting her grip from his shirt and helping her put on her gloves.

She thinks she's hit a new level of pathetic.

She tells him as such but he just shakes his head, pressing his lips together and wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they start on their way back home. He's warm and she's thankful for the comfort, she just doesn't want to face this alone.

"I know it's hard on you," he says, "But I'm glad you're here."

She allows herself a small smile, "I knew there was a reason I didn't come around anymore."

"What?" he says, very obviously not serious, but he removes his arm regardless and it's colder without him, "You mean it wasn't because of me?"

"You're too big for your trousers," she mumbles, curling a finger around one of his belt loops and pulling him closer. He's warm by her side again, and that's all she wanted, really.

"I don't think that's the right saying."

She shoots him a quick glare.

"Not that it matters," he quickly amends, a small laugh falling from his lips, "I love you, you know."

It's the first time he's said it since they got back together, it's a moment, maybe the first, that she completely loses everything else but him. Not even the burn of her lungs can stop the seconds that pass and everything seems okay.

Mira didn't mean it. She couldn't have known. Meetra knows she's making it out to be bigger than it is. Maybe. But surely she's overanalyzing everything, surely she's allowed to have a moment's respite. Surely she doesn't have to nearly choke to death when someone so much as mentions Revan's name.

And surely she doesn't have to avoid living her life because she's afraid of what she gave up in order to do so. She knows Revan, she knows his strength and what he's capable of. She's witnessed it firsthand. When will he not need her anymore? When will he not use her for his own benefit?

Atton holds her hand as they enter their building, still holds it tightly in the lift and even as they enter their dark flat. It's a thing, she supposes, not turning the lights on. They're swimming in shadows, just standing close for a long time before he pulls her closer, his arms crush her against his chest and his lips trace the shell of her ear.

"I'm glad you're back," he says, "It's warmer with you here."

Meetra doesn't let herself contemplate what that means, she merely nuzzles her head further into his chest, holds him closer because that's all she can do.

"I love you too," she breathes, the sound only amplified by the absolute silence of the apartment, of the dark walls and colored lights filtering through.

He lets her go, but only so that he can properly look her in the eye. She shakes her head, but thinks that maybe she can do this because she has Atton. She wonders if there's a line drawn somewhere, one side Atton and one side Revan, one side life and one side death.

She doesn't know why it's so hard to choose.

—

Meetra thinks that maybe the Force hates her.

It happens one evening when she's home alone. She's watching some stupid show on the holo, but she's not really paying attention. She's having a hard time remembering what she did that morning, unable to remember if she'd done anything productive, or sat in the dark of the morning and listened to the thoughts running mercilessly through her head. She can't remember if it was the nostalgia or something else that led her to this point, staring blankly at the holovision as she lets the bright lights invade her empty head.

Atton comes home at some point, flopping down on the sofa next to her, his feet against hers, smile plastered brightly to his usually cocky features.

"I'm brilliant," he says.

She can only watch him for a long moment, a smile creeping onto her lips, "Oh really?"

He nods, shifting on the couch so that he's sprawled across her lap, his head rests on her thighs and he smiles up at her. She smiles back because he's such a goon, but she doesn't think she could be any more fond of him.

"So tell me, what makes you so brilliant?" she asks.

His smile widens marginally. "I talked to Barshay."

Meetra's smile falters for a moment as the muscles in her face take a moment to catch up with her brain. It returns. "Really? What did you say?"

"I went out to lunch with him to catch up," he does air quotes around that, "You know, catch up, and we had a nice, friendly little chat about what should constitute a planet amongst the Republic."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously,” he says as if he’s outraged that she wouldn’t believe him, “At first I was like, there's no way this guy's going to go for it, I mean obviously people know we're connected. Unless they've all sort of brushed what happened five years ago under the carpet, you know, acting like three Sith Lords weren't about to rip the carpet out from underneath the Republic—"

"Atton," she interrupts, "What happened with Barshay?"

He offers her a sly smile, "I'm getting to it, geez."

Meetra brushes a lock of hair out of his eyes, he leans into her touch and doesn’t say anything further, forcing her to immediately pull her hands back. “Atton,” she whines.

“Fine,” he says as he sits up, his cheeks reddened from the rush of blood to his head, “From what I gathered he has some business deal going on in the Varic system, way out in the Outer Rim or summat. He mentioned that it’s not exactly a steady arrangement, so I’m guessing he doesn’t want to amend anything until this deal is done.”

She frowns. Frozen.

“Aren’t I the just the best?” he asks, seemingly ignoring her, “I don’t think he’s actively against the revisions, he just needs more time to get whatever he needs to get done, done. So in conclusion, there’s nothing you need to worry your troubled mind over, it’s just a matter of when he’s going to sign it, not if.”

She shakes her head, “The Varic system, you said?”

“Wh—” he starts, his eyebrows furrow, “Yeah, why? What?”

Meetra closes her eyes, pressing the palms of her hands to her eyelids, she doesn’t know how many times she has to tell herself it’s all too much before she actually does anything about it. The thing is, it’s so frustrating. She’s literally trapped and every move she makes only locks her further in place, only shows her what she really needs to do, even though it’s what she absolutely does not want to do.

“Meetra,” Atton says, pressing his hand to her upper arm, “I don’t understand.”

“The Varic system is in the Chorlian sector,” she begins as she sucks in a shaky breath, “Which is also home to Nathema.”

“Nathema,” he repeats and his brows twist even more out of confusion. “I don’t....”

She sighs as she turns off the holovision and moves to face him. It’s a hard day to feel real.

“I was going to go after Revan,” she says, “I don’t know if you remember, but I had it planned out, I think I always knew it was what I had to do. I talked to Bastila about it, she even gave me his mask and uh, well T3 had a recording of the _Ebon Hawk_ on Nathema.”

“You were going to go to Nathema,” his voice is monotone, “That’s not in the Varic system though. Please tell me that you’re not leaving because Barshay has connections in the Outer Rim?”

“Oh my god,” she says as she shakes her head, “It’s everything, Atton. This guilt has been destroying me, and the only way I thought I could get away from it was to do something for the Republic, and turns out the _one thing_ I’m trying to do right isn’t working because Senator Barshay is trying to make some money in the same Sector I’d have to go to to find Revan.”

She’s aware of how shaky her voice is, but it’s still amplified, it’s so loud and she can’t remember the last time she’s been this heated about something outright.

“Oh my god,” she repeats, “There’s no point in fighting it, because no matter what I do, I’m going to end up following the will of the Force or whatever it is that's pushing me away.”

Atton is fully withdrawn, his eyes are dark, his lips pulled tight. “You can’t just give up like that.”

“It’s not giving up, Atton, it’s doing what’s right,” she says, her voice quieted.

His voice, on the other hand, only increases in volume. “Doing what’s right for who? Revan hasn’t done a kriffing thing for you your entire life! Dying for him won’t make a hell of a difference to him but every single damn difference to me. We need you here, you know that? You’ve held us together for over five years and we need you, Mee. I need you here, and I’m not going to stand back and be quiet about this when I’m losing you all over again.”

He’s up and it’s been a long time since she’s seen him this angry. Even the morning he left he’d had a quiet, reserved anger about him, resounding but still laying beneath the surface. He’s at the door now, not much different from that morning, hand still hesitating above the handle.

“Screw you, Meetra Surik.”

And then he’s gone again.

She's left alone with the heaviness of the emotions settling into the room. She knows he’s not going to go far because he left his coat draped over the couch, and mostly she’s relieved because it feels good to get these feelings out. She’d rather have this than the dull ache through every interaction, an undercurrent constantly reminding her that even when it feels like things have gone back to normal that they most definitely have not.

It felt good to take it from him, to take something other than the quiet reassurances that it’d be okay when it’s very clear that it won’t be. She gives him a few minutes before she’s putting her own coat on and tapping her fingertips against her thighs in the lift.

It’s not hard to find Atton, considering the air is full of cigarette smoke and the familiar outline of his back is facing the street. His boots kick up snow as he drags the smoke from his lungs, turning at the sound of the door opening.

“You’ll freeze to death out here!” she calls, drawing closer so that she can make out the thinned color of his lips and cheeks. It’s not snowing, thank the Force, but it’s still very cold and she can see his hand is shaking where he’s holding the cigarette to his lips.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says, his slate eyes are purple and blue from the lights reflecting in them, it brings a weak smile to her lips.

“I know.”

“No,” he says, dropping the cigarette into the snow and pulling another from his pocket, “It’s just—I’m not ready for you to go, I don’t want to lose you again because this time it’ll be for good.”

Meetra doesn’t know why she’s so calm, she doesn’t understand the way her bones settle just by knowing she’s finally going to do _something_. She sighs quietly, “I know babe, but please come back inside and defrost. I think your hands have gone solid.”

A defeated and weary grimace finds its way onto Atton’s face as he tosses his second cigarette into the snow. He follows her inside though, not stopping until he gets to the bedroom. She watches in confusion as he rips the duvet off the bed, wrapping it around Meetra and hauling her into his arms. She lets out a small squeal but instinctively folds her arms around the back of his neck.

He drops her back on the couch, leaving the lights off and tucking himself under the duvet as well, his grip so tight around her waist she’s not sure she can breathe. His lips are against her shoulder, his breath warm when he finally speaks, “I just don’t want you to go.”

“I think,” she starts, carding her fingers through his hair, “I don’t either, but that’s the thing, Atton. That’s the whole point of fate or whatever you want to call it. It’s going to happen no matter what, I can’t keep fighting it.”

“What if you’re wrong?” he asks, “What if you’re not going to die out there?”

“Don’t do that,” she says quietly.

“Why?”

She takes a deep breath, “Because if I tell you I’d come back for you, you’d never stop waiting. I can’t let you spend the rest of your life wondering what happened or if I'll come back.”

They’re both quiet for a long time after that. She thinks that maybe he’s fallen asleep, but when she stills her hand in his hair he makes a noise of discontent, leaning back and looking up at her.

“When?” is what he asks.

“Uh, sooner rather than later, I suppose. I think I might back out if given too much time to consider what I’m actually doing.”

“And how long is that?”

She takes a long moment to consider it, there’s so much she wants to do right, to make right instead of everything she’s made wrong. “Two conditions,” she says.

His eyes don’t leave hers. He nods, “Okay.”

“First, we don’t tell anyone.”

He seems to mull that over, his brows furrowing at first but he eventually says, “And the second?”

“You go back to Telos and take the job Carth offered you.”

He doesn’t look happy about that one, but doesn’t say anything about it. Instead he leans back into the couch cushions, resting his palm on his forehead. “How long are you staying?”

“Four days,” she says immediately, the automatic answer falling from her lips without much thinking. It took her four months to get it wrong, she wants four days to make it right.

“That’s not enough time,” he says.

“No amount will be.”

His palm moves down to cover his eyes, where it stays for a long few minutes. Meetra watches the shadows move across the wall, waiting for the moment where she realizes she’s actually doing this, waiting for the fear to come creeping up her spine because she knows how hard it’ll be to leave.

“Can we have one more condition?” she asks.

She hears him huff out a breath, shaking his head but still saying, “Sure.”

Her hands are pulling at the duvet between them, she watches the fabric gather between her fingers before she finally regains the ability to speak. She gives a weak smile for her own patheticness. “Can we pretend like everything’s normal?”

“What?”

“Like, these next few days, can we just act like nothing out of the ordinary is happening?”

It seems like the breath he takes lasts for an hour, the dark of the room adding to the sluggish silence between them. He moves though, he moves closer to her again and wraps his arms a bit more securely around her back.

“Yeah,” he breathes into her skin, “Of course we can.”

She doesn’t answer that, merely closing her eyes and burying her head into his shoulder, pulling the duvet up and around them. The warmth of it is enough for tonight, and she can feel her tired eyes pulling her from consciousness.

—

And if the next morning she wakes in a panic, she doesn't say anything.

If the fear clawing at her throat prevents her from paying attention to a single word said to her, she still doesn't say anything.

And if she realizes the next night that she really only has three days before the beginning of the end comes, she absolutely does not say a word.

—

She takes the next day off. They spend the morning together, wrapped up in bed and talking about anything and everything until she gets the feeling that she’s wasting time and asks Atton to go out with her.

“Where?” he’d asked.

“Somewhere, _anywhere_.”

They ended up at the same quiet coffee shop they went to that night so, so many years ago. Too many years ago now, but she’d take that moment back just the same. She’s actually surprised the shop is still here, still nearly the same as it was, but she supposes that maybe not all changes in only five years.

She sets two cups of coffee between them, offering him a small smile as she lifts hers to her lips, “It’s been a while, yeah?”

They’re both calmer than they were two nights ago. Meetra’s settled down from yesterday and Atton doesn't look ready to jump out of the nearest window anymore. The only thing remaining is the twist of her stomach at how cruel the Force can be.

Because the greater good always means more, doesn't it?

He’s watching her now, the smallest smile planted at the corners of his lips, “You’re something else, Meetra.”

“Is that still a good thing?”

He smirks. “It never was.”

“Nice,” she mutters, the coffee warms her through her throat all the way down to her stomach, spreading heat like fire in her bones.

“Can you believe Mission’s getting married?” he asks after a bout of companionable silence.

She shakes her head, “No, not really. I mean, obviously I can believe her and Dustil are ready for it and will be great together and all, but she’s just—I still think of her as so young. She’s grown up though, they’ve been together longer than we ever were.”

“Were?” he says, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“Are? Sorry, guess I’m not used to it yet.”

“It’s okay,” he says softly.

She shakes her head, but there isn’t anything she can do to take the words back, and there’s only so much time left, so she smiles and blinks back whatever emotion is creeping up the back of her throat. She clutches the mug tighter, but promises herself she won’t borrow these last days, she won’t let them go because they’re hers, and it may be all she has left. There’s no point in feeling sorry anymore, it won’t change anything.

“Let’s get something to drink,” she says, aware that she’s holding a cup of coffee, but once the idea flits into her mind she’s helpless to let it go.

“A drink, drink?” he questions, the hint of a smile clearing away the doubt clouding his sharp features.

She nods, “Let’s dance, or sing, or...I don’t know, _do_ something.”

It’s obvious that they’re both itching to look at the clock, because it very much isn’t an acceptable hour to be drinking, but it doesn’t really matter, so she grabs his hand and they leave the coffee shop, they leave a place that’s a part of them, and she wonders what else they’re leaving behind.

—

Meetra doesn’t know how much time has passed, somewhere between multiple gin and tonics and singing terrible karaoke to a not so chipper day crowd, she finds herself staring at the stars, only half aware that she’s moving at all. Maybe not moving so much as gliding, her ankles are locked straight and the motion of keeping her head back propels her forward.

The ice rink is fairly empty, save for a few other couples. Meetra thinks maybe she’s too buzzed to ice skate, but Atton seems to be doing fine as he circles around the rink without her, while she ambles in a straight line, head tilted back.

The thing is, there are so many stars. Too many, she thinks at one point, her hazy mind isn’t too sure about that one, but they light up brighter than Coruscant, which, god, she hardly ever paid attention to when she was caught up in the Order, caught up in Atton, caught up in herself. They’re so bright, so perfect, and Meetra watches them until stray snowflakes fall into her eyes and she can hear Atton come up behind her, slowing to a near stop.

His hands hit her back first, bracing for a bit of impact, but they just glide forward together for a quick moment as he adjusts his hands so that one’s grasping hers, pulling her a little as he moves to skate backwards.

“Since when can you ice skate?” she asks, genuinely not sure if they’ve done this before or not.

Atton’s eyes are bright, and she doesn’t know if it’s from the lights of the rink, the stars hovering over them, or the flashes of the city spires surrounding them. She’s not sure if it’s the buzz he has going on, if maybe that’s the reason that his cheeks are flushed and his grin is wide, or maybe if it’s because he’s with her and everything sort of feels right.

“I skate, I do things,” he says, “I grew up on Alderaan for god's sakes.”

She pouts, “Well sorry, I’ve only been to Alderaan a few times, you know. I never got the chance to skate or do things.”

“We’ll have to go back,” his smile falters slightly, but it doesn’t disappear, “I’ll fly you there sometime.”

She squeezes his hand tighter, “It’ll be lovely.”

“It will be,” he answers, but his smile is back, “You know, I’m pretty sure they have fireworks here.”

“Please tell me you planned this or summat.”

He shakes his head, “Serendipity, love.”

“You’re such a sap, Rand,” she begins, but the sound is cut by laughter, drawing both their attention to Mira and Mical skating up behind them. Mira shoves her hands onto Meetra’s shoulders in some attempt to scare her or nearly knock her off the ice, either way working, and laughs into her ear.

“Look at you two!” she says, taking Meetra’s other hand and levelling a stare at Atton, “Fancy running into you here! I didn’t know you ice skated.”

“Could say the same about you,” Atton answers before Meetra can, his glare at Mira shifts to Mical, “Who knew Mr. Sensible over here was capable of fun?”

The glare lasts for a moment, soon falling into a smile as Mical pats him on the back. Meetra vaguely remembers when their animosity was serious, but years of being around each other has long since broken that down.

“Are you here for the fireworks?” Mical asks, offering a small smile at Meetra, and maybe he knows something is up, maybe he can sense something in the Force that the others have yet to pick up on, but it only makes her fidget for a moment before she resumes her focus.

“We weren’t sure if they actually did them,” Meetra answers, “Just talking about it, actually.”

“Oh they do,” Mira smirks, “I dragged Mical down here to watch them, seeing as he’s the only one not caught up in someone else at the moment.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Atton says, a smirk of his own apparent on his lips.

Mira shakes her head, gripping Meetra’s hand a bit tighter and pulling her away from Atton a smidge. She comes in close, her voice quiet as the boys start their own conversation. “I know you just got back together with Atton and all,” she says, “But sleepover at mine tonight? We could invite Mission and hang out like old times.”

Meetra risks a quick glance at Atton, biting her lip to keep from smiling at the look on his face, absolutely animated as he goes on about whatever him and Mical are talking about. He waves one hand about and she nearly cracks, letting out just the smallest snort. Mira gives her a look, but Meetra speaks up before she can say anything, “Yeah, yeah, sounds good.”

She glances at Atton again, his eyes meeting hers immediately, the only thing that breaks their contact is the loud crack, followed by a flash from above. Meetra tangles her fingers tighter with Mira’s, tilting her head back as the first is followed by a series of flashing lights and sounds, echoing gold above their heads and resonating deep within Meetra.

She has to tear her eyes away, if only to catch the profiles of her friends lined with bright lights and gold, the ice is skimmed with glitter and haze, both sparks and smoke falling from the night sky above them. She thinks it's more beautiful than the fireworks themselves.

Atton moves around Mira, taking Meetra’s other hand and pulling her closer to him. He places a chaste kiss to her cheek, smiling when she leans into it. It’s comforting in a lot of ways, a bit distracting to the fireworks but overall sweet and she meets his gaze when he pulls away.

“I’m staying at Mira’s tonight,” she says, quietly, though the sound above is enough to drown out their voices.

A small look of panic crosses his features, he glances over her shoulder, but turns his attention back to Meetra, “But we only have so much time.”

“I know,” she says a little too quickly, “But I promise I’ll be back tomorrow. I just need to spend some time with them, I don’t know when the last time will be.”

He’s slow to nod, but he does, pulling her into his chest. They’re a bit unsteady on the ice, but they right themselves pretty quickly, she half laughs, half chokes into his chest, crushed by the weight of his hug and of it all. It’s a lot, but she tries to push it from her mind, instead focusing on the beauty of the moment, surrounded by friends, surrounded by a crackling halo of golden light, the cold nipping at her face and her heart so completely full and empty at the same time.

Yeah, it’s a lot.

—

Mira’s flat is actually quite unassuming compared to her personality. It only has small touches that make it looked lived in, like it holds a life that could probably outshine anyone, so blindingly bright and helplessly endearing to Meetra. Mira tells her to settle in while they wait for Mission, who was a bit overenthusiastic about the whole thing.

“So you and Atton, huh?” Mira comments as they settle onto her sofa. She turns the holovision on to some boring channel, if only for the background noise. Mira never liked the quiet and Meetra’s okay with it because she doesn’t really want it at the moment either.

She nods at first, because she’s not really sure what she’s supposed to say. There wasn’t any real reason that they separated other than stilted conversations and nights spent apart, maybe it was when she missed his nephew’s graduation, or all the mornings she left before he even woke. She knew how it hurt him, knew how often he was on the verge of breaking until he did, and even then he never stopped loving her.

It hurts to think about it because she’s not sure if she deserves his love or his pain, he doesn’t deserve the hurt she’s caused him, or the hurt she will inevitably cause him when she leaves for good. She doesn’t understand why he still wants to stay when he knows what’s going to happen, when he knows she wouldn’t hold it against him. It hurts to think about it, so she tries to stop, instead focusing on the question at hand, which wasn’t really about losing Atton at all.

“Yeah, it just kind of happened,” she says, trying to fight off the fond smile creeping onto her lips. Despite the circumstances under which they got back together, it still warms her through to think about him and that night.

Mira puts on a pained expression, “Tell me.”

“I don’t know how much there is to tell,” she answers, “He was at Barshay’s party and I was there and we found each other and talked and he came home, like...for good.”

There’s a loud knock at the door that causes both Mira and Meetra to jump. Mira gets up to answer it, levelling a mischievous look at Meetra, “There’s someting you’re not telling me, and I’ll get it out of you.”

Meetra shakes her head, but before she knows it Mission is all over her, pulling her into a nearly desperate hug that Meetra’s not sure she understands until Mission pulls back and her smile is nearly blinding.

“I talked to Barshay’s assistant today, he’s finally going to go over the document,” she exclaims, her hands tight around Meetra’s wrists.

Meetra knows none of it really matters anymore, but she plasters on the biggest smile she can manage, as if Barshay didn’t play a crucial role in her leaving. “That’s incredible, Mish, he has to sign now.”

Mission nods, still as enthusiastic, but she pulls away and glances between the two ladies, “So how have you guys been?”

“Oh I’m great,” Mira answers, “Just trying to get the dirty details out of Meetra.”

Mission glances back at her. “Dirty details?” she asks.

Meetra sighs and tries not to look too in despair. “Nah, she just wants to know about Atton and everything, but there’s not much to know, I promise.”

“Fine,” Mira says, her face disbelieving but she smiles anyways, “Anyone want something to drink?”

Both Meetra and Mission are quick to raise their hands, and Meetra’s thankful for the rather large glass of wine that Mira soon hands her. It’s warm and thick like medicine as it goes down her throat, chasing the buzz she had going on earlier and she’s able to take a deep breath and settle back into the couch.

Mission is warm next to her as they put on some sappy romance movie that Meetra can’t quite get into. She pays attention long enough to make some sense of Mission and Mira’s idle comments throughout, but otherwise she’s committing the moment to memory. The walls are nearly bare but what they do hold are relics and knick knacks from their time together five years ago. No one really knows how everything got divided up at the end, but she never would’ve guessed that Mira is as sentimental as she is.

The lights cast strange shadows onto her walls, combating the faint amount of moonlight creeping in through the small window. They’re slow, but Meetra likes the way they drag over the mostly empty walls, she likes how they outline her friends’ faces.

Meetra’s attention eventually falls back on the film, two characters are saying goodbye or something, and she wishes she paid more attention. One of them is crying, just fabricated tears for the cameras and entertainment of it all, but it still pulls at her heart even though she doesn’t really have an idea of what’s going on.

“ _Do you regret any of it_ _?_ ” one of them asks, “ _Would you go back and change anything_ _?_ ”

The question hits her in the chest, lingering long after the movie ends and the three of them bundle up in Mira’s too small bed. None of them care. She thinks maybe she should tell them, that they deserve to know, but maybe it would be too much to say the words again. Maybe it wouldn’t be fair to tell them she’s leaving their lives for good, not when they have this moment, these few hours just to spend time together. They deserve to know, but still she doesn’t.

—

Atton’s awake when she comes home.

He looks tired, but he’s sat at the table eating cereal and Meetra just smiles at him at first. He’s across the room from her but she feels frozen in place, placated by his smile returned and it’s another moment she wants to commit to memory. It’s one that might stand out amongst the others, because this is who she is. She’s hopelessly gone for a man who sits at a table and eats cereal, who smells like cheap leather and cigarette smoke but is still somehow perfect, and at her very core she knows that life doesn’t get better than this.

Life isn’t about the grand events or doing things that scare you to death. It isn’t about chasing Sith Lords or saving the Republic. Life is about recognizing the little moments that you’ll take with you when you when it’s all over, because those are the ones you want to keep, those are the ones that will mean the most. She doesn’t want to have to think back and hope she paid more attention, or wish that she’d taken the moment as it was and not for what it could be.

“I think I’m going to tell Mission,” she says, her voice barely audible, coming out more as a breath than anything, but he swallows a mouthful of cereal with a small frown playing on his lips.

“Are you sure?” he asks, but they both know the answer to that.

Meetra nods, “She deserves to know.”

He scoots his chair back a bit, making room for her to come over and sit in his lap. She hooks her arms around the back of his neck, breathing in the smell of cigarettes and whatever makes Atton himself. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, breathes him in and thumbs at his shirt.

“You should go, then,” he says into her ear, and she knows she should, but she’s not ready to let this moment go. Not yet.

—

Her hands are shaking as she leaves the taxi. Meetra knows she owes Mission a lot more than a shoddy explanation the day before she leaves. This is the best she can offer, and she consoles herself by remembering that she wasn’t going to tell her at all, and now here she is.

The thing is, Mission has been there for her so many times. Even before they’d started working together they’d been good friends. Mission knows her, she’s seen her through the whole thing with Atton without even knowing what was really happening. Meetra doesn’t know if she could ever be that kind of friend.

Her hands fumble over the door handle, their office is just the same as it always is, but Meetra knows now. She knows this is her last time stepping foot in it and that doesn’t seem very real, but she tries to swallow it down in some attempt to make herself understand it.

Mission looks up, brows immediately furrowing because Meetra’s sure it’s all over her face. There’s no way she’s able to keep her expression unaffected, not when her hands have gone rogue and her heart is rabbiting in her chest. This is worse than Atton, she thinks, because at least with him it was a slow descent, but now it’s a plummet, straight to the heart of Mission.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, putting down Meetra’s cup of coffee, and really, that’s all it takes. Meetra can feel the tears burning hot at the corners of her eyes, she tries to will them away but the sight of their two cups of coffee sitting on Mission’s desk is too much for her, and she readily accepts the hug that Mission throws at her.

Mission hushes her, smoothing her hands over Meetra’s back, over that spot that she knows will be the end of her. She doesn’t know how long it’ll be until then, but she thinks she can already feel the heat running through her.

“It’s okay,” Mission soothes, her hands slowing until she pulls back and deliberately looks into her eyes, “It’s okay.”

Meetra shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Mish,” is what she manages to get out.

“What is it?” she asks, her features impossibly more concerned than before.

“I just—” Meetra pulls a hand up and away to wipe at her eye, “God, I didn’t mean to start crying. This is all very pathetic, but I just—ah.”

Mission looks confused. “Did something happen? Is it Atton?”

“No,” she answers a little too quickly, “No, god, no. I uh, I um, I’m not making much sense, am I? Can you just hug me again?”

She lets out a soft laugh, but her arms are warm around her again, her breath warm against her ear. “Just talk to me, yeah?”

Meetra nods as she pulls away. She searches her mind for the right way to say it, but she doesn’t think there is a right way, or any way in which the words won’t hurt. “I’m,” she begins, closing her eyes for a moment as she gathers her thoughts, “I’m not coming back to work after today.”

There’s no real reaction other than the slight crinkling of her brow. “Why?”

“I’m going after Revan,” she starts, “And I’m uh, I’m leaving tomorrow and I know it’s a lot, but I didn’t want to make a big deal about it so I held off telling anyone other than Atton. I’m sorry about that, but I figured out of anyone you deserve to know."

Mission looks more confused than anything else. She backs up a bit, rubbing the back of her hand over her forehead for just a moment before she’s appraising Meetra with questioning eyes. “This is—this is big. How long will you be gone.?”

Meetra lets out a quiet sigh, looking down at her hands for a long moment before remembering the window is a much more viable distraction. The city towers aren’t doing anything for her though, so she figures she should probably answer the question.

“I’m not,” she says softly, forcing herself to look at Mission. The Twi’lek’s features fall immediately, her crinkled brow furrows even further, her lips pull down one side and her eyes don’t look as confused anymore.

“You’re not coming back?” she asks, and Meetra wishes she could explain it in a way that wouldn’t provoke any more questions.

“Yeah,” Meetra says, her voice is weak and soft and she kind of hates it, “I had a vision, or a Force premonition, or...whatever. But this is it for me, Mish, I’ve lived my life.”

The tears are quick to spring to Mission’s eyes as she draws closer to Meetra, once more pulling her in for a tight embrace. “I hate the Force,” she says, “It takes people away without any regard as to how I feel about it.”

“Don’t say that,” Meetra soothes, though her hands are still shaking and she’s trying to hold herself together, “I know I’ve been right miserable the past few months, but I’ve learned that you just can’t fight it. I don’t know if I need Revan or if he needs me, but I know I can’t stay. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s okay,” Mission says, “If only it were anyone else but Revan.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think,” Mission says as she pulls away, blue eyes still watery but she’s not fully crying, “That Revan’s like a red thread. He’s tied the galaxy together, you know? And I don’t think I’ll ever really understand how or why. I remember him back on Taris when he waltzed into that backwater cantina with Carth by his side. I had no idea who he was, and I guess he didn’t know who he was, but there was just something special about him. I never knew what it was, but he just had this way about him, like there was something bigger at work behind everything he did. It was hard to believe he was Revan at first, you know? But it makes sense, I guess it always made sense.”

Meetra just nods, vaguely aware that Mission has gone blurry before her. She forces back the tears that try to escape her eyes, desperate to compose herself for a proper goodbye.

“I just,” Mission continues, “I thought I lost everything when Taris was destroyed. It was hard on me, and I blamed him for a long time. It was his fault, you know? He was the reason I was lost. I know now, though, that without him I would never be here, I wouldn’t be with Dustil and I wouldn’t have met you. He gave me life, Mee, he’s beyond anything I could possibly comprehend, and I mean I don’t pretend to know anything about the Force, but I love you so much Meetra, and—”

Mission breaks for a moment to ward off a new round of tears, her lips falling out of shape until she takes a deep, shaky breath. She continues, “And if you aren’t coming back, if that’s the way that it really has to be, then for who else? You know?”

The words hit Meetra like a stone, no, like multiple stones, like she’s being pelted and bruised and there’s too many reasons why. All she can do, all she’s helpless to do, is pull Mission back towards her, cradling her head in her hands.

“I love you so much, Mish, and I am so, so, sorry that I’m going to miss your wedding. Dustil’s so lucky to have you, just—God, I’m going to miss you so much.”

Mission just nods for a moment, wiping away stray tears, “Same to you, I just wish we could keep you for longer.”

Meetra lets out a small laugh, “It’s okay, Mish, it really is. I’m too old, anyways.”

“You know how much I hate that joke,” she says, but her mouth is fixed in a smile, maybe a bit sad, maybe a bit sentimental.

Meetra returns the sad smile, deciding that sentimental is good, because it means there’s something to be missed. “I know, I know.”

“So is this really it, then?” she asks, her hands shaking where they’re holding Meetra’s.

She’s slow to nod in response, but does, “You mean the world to me, Mish.”

“I’ll miss you with everything I have,” she answers, lips twitching to the side once more, “Bye, Mee.”

“Bye,” Meetra answers, sucking in a shaking breath and wiping at her eyes once more. She moves past Mission to grab the cup of coffee, taking one last look around the office before she heads towards the door.

“Hey,” Mission calls after her.

Meetra turns, wiping at her eyes once more but she thinks maybe she’s still smiling. “Yeah?”

“We had a good run,” she says, “You and I. The Dream Team.”

Meetra has to close her eyes as she nods, she can feel the stray tears that escape. She opens them to see Mission smiling at her, neither sad nor sentimental now, maybe proud. Meetra nods again, “The Dream Team.”

—

The snow doesn’t block out the lights streaming in through the bathroom window. Atton’s been gone for a while and the bathwater has gone lukewarm around her, but she’s found that she doesn’t really care. She can’t tell if she’s shivering or not, but if her internal temperature is lowered what does it really matter?

She skims her hands over and across the top of the water, carefully breaching the space between. Her hands are too heavy, though, and she can’t find the balance without the tips of her fingers dipping in. The frustration leaves her with a splash as she shoves her hands back underwater and sinks down so that her shoulders are nearly covered. It’s definitely getting too cold, but she’s already lost track of how long she’s been in the tub, she thinks maybe it was still light out when she got in.

At some point she hears Atton enter the apartment, his voice echoing through the hollow walls of the bathroom.

“I’m in here,” she calls, her voice sounding garbled and uneasy.

He’s at the door a few seconds later, shaking his head when he sees her head bobbing in the tub. “Is this a thing now? Not turning on any of the lights?”

She nods, dipping her chin underwater. He comes closer and kneels next the tub, his fingers lightly trace the edge of the porcelain, too white and smooth compared to his hands. “How’re you doing?” he asks.

“Okay,” she answers, “I told Mission.”

His eyes flick up to meet hers as his hand move from the edge of the tub to her barely exposed shoulder. “How did she take it?”

“As well as anyone could, I guess. A bit better than you, though there were tears involved.”

“Hey,” he says, his voice short and stiff but his mouth is quirked into a smile, “I don’t think there’s a proper way to handle it at all.”

Meetra turns her gaze back to the water, moving her hands again through the murkiness of it, the lower half still reflecting the lights from the city, and she wishes she could lose herself in them. “I’m leaving tomorrow, Atton,” she says, still trying to swallow that bit of information.

“I know,” he says, his smile gone when she looks back up at him, “I just wish you weren’t. I’ll miss you every day, every moment I have left.”

“I’ll miss you too,” she says, turning her eyes down to follow the edge of the tub. It nearly glows under the moonlight, still contrasting Atton’s forearm as he leans over it, leans into her. She bites at her bottom lip, “I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”

A heavy silence sits between them as she watches his face twist into a frown, his eyes turn down and she tangles her fingers with his above the water.

“You did,” he breathes, “If this is it, I mean.”

Meetra takes a breath, maybe two, before the tears start. It’s not full on crying, there’s no awkward face scrunching or any noise coming out of her, just loose tears creating their own paths down her cheeks and settling on the curve of her lip and chin. There are tears in Atton’s eyes too, but he moves to drain the tub instead, helping her out and wrapping a towel around her, pulling her into his arms.

He tucks her under the duvet, and tucks himself next to her even though she’s sopping wet, soaking through the sheets and the pillowcase, and she’s vaguely aware that she’s still crying. She doesn’t want to leave, she absolutely does not want to leave, but if anything Meetra’s always tried to do what’s right.

And this is right.

She repeats that to herself, chastising herself for begging her to stay. Instead she snuggles further into Atton’s chest. He’s warm and his breathing is slow, but she can hear, she can feel the speed at which his heart is racing. She smoothes a hand over his stomach, but it does little other than cast more memories into her bruised mind.

If this is her last night with Atton, then, well, it’s a good one.

—

Meetra’s last morning on Coruscant is brought on by icy fingers dragging up her bare arms, still the same as all the mornings spent alone. It’s bright, maybe too bright she thinks but she makes her peace with it. There’s no use in being frustrated with the weather when it’s the last time she’ll get to appreciate it.

Atton’s still asleep, so she slips out of bed, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the bureau on the way out. It’s not a hard decision to put on shoes and a coat, taking the lift up to the roof where she can see the dull city spires. Her building isn’t anything spectacular, it’s small and drafty, but she likes the view and that’s all that really mattered when they bought it.

The snow is still fresh from last night, and Meetra has to clear a section of the roof so that she can sit. The amber glow from the early morning sun is bright in her eyes, but Meetra squints it away as she lights a cigarette. The warmth of the smoke fills her empty lungs, bringing her both life and relief from the panic trying to clutch at her throat.

She tells herself that it’s okay. And really, it is. Coruscant means a lot to her, but she won’t miss it. She’ll miss the people, she’ll miss the memories, but she’s taken everything she could from this planet, and it has to be enough. There’s no way it can’t be enough, because she hasn’t given herself any other options, there’s no way out now, she’s going to go and she won’t see Coruscant again.

Her eyes trace the towers around her, already burned into her memory, but the bright morning sun makes the sky particularly vomit colored and she smiles because she loves it, because through everything, life was still good to her. She’s had so much love, she’s been surrounded by some of the greatest people of her time, and she’ll die for the hero of their age, the red thread that’s tied them all together.

_Do you regret any of it? Would you go back and change anything?_

She wishes she could slow it down, slow down time and go back and appreciate everything over again, but no, there aren’t any regrets.

—

The ride to the spaceport is quiet. Atton glances over at her every chance he can get without being too reckless behind the wheel. The space between them feels too big, everything feels too big because she’s not touching him, she’s not close enough and the sun is fully in the sky and she knows there’s only so much time left.

Her eyes are trained on him the entire time, but when they get to the spaceport she forces herself to look away, to catch a glimpse of the Senate Building for the last time. Only a few months were spent there, but it feels like a bigger part of her, one that she might be okay saying goodbye to.

Atton comes around the side of the speeder to let her out, taking her hand tightly in his. His gloved, hers not. He’s warm and she can’t feel her fingertips, but somehow everything feels okay. There’s some peace in knowing that this is it, that even though she’s trying to absorb every moment left on this planet she knows she’s full to the brim.

When they get to the hangar Meetra doesn’t expect the familiar faces and familiar arms wrapping around her before she even gets a glimpse at the the _Ebon Hawk_. She pulls back at first, completely surprised and then a bit overwhelmed. Her eyes trace over Bao-Dur, then Mical, Mira, Mission, Dustil, Visas, and even Bastila’s there, their lips pulled into tight smiles and eyes full of hope.

Mira’s the first to step forward, “I can’t believe you were going to leave without saying goodbye!”

There’s no malice in her voice, and Meetra can only shake her head. “Oh, I’d never.”

She accepts hugs and words of encouragement from the rest of them. Mical seems to be the only one clued in besides Mission and Atton. Everyone else tells her to come home soon, but not Mical. He has something infinite in his eyes, perhaps only sadness, and he holds her just a bit tighter than the rest.

“You’ve saved me in so many ways,” he breathes into her ear, “May the Force be with you, Meetra.”

She’s barely holding it together when he pulls back, but she can feel everyone’s eyes on her and the self-consciousness is enough for her to compose herself.

Bastila is the last to say goodbye, murmuring soft thank you’s in her ear, pulling her close even though she’s not particularly known for physical contact or any interaction with Meetra. She supposes that it’s okay though, she knows it’s okay.

They back up a bit when Atton pulls her into his arms for the last time, pressing kisses along the side of her face, stopping at her forehead and angling his lips down towards hers. It’s a lot to take in, but she kisses him back for the last time, holds him closer because she knows she won’t be able to hold him again. His hands slide over that spot on her back, the one that maybe should mean more than it does right now, but she doesn’t care. His hands are enough.

“I love you, Sweets,” he says when he finally pulls away, “I love you so, so much.”

She smiles, pulling him back and more fully into her arms. “I love you too.”

It’s all very full-circle she thinks, standing on the ramp of the _Ebon Hawk_. They’re all watching her and she doesn’t cry because it’s a happy thing. She’s surrounded by love and that’s all she could’ve asked for after everything. She thought that the Mass Shadow Generator was where her life ended, but she knows now that it was where her life began. Her smile is blinding.

—

The thing is, Meetra’s not that old.

There was a lot of life to live, and she thinks that sometimes she’s lived multiple lifetimes in one. She doesn’t know when she’ll die, but she knows now that it’s all that’s left waiting her. It’s always been Revan, she supposes, she’s always been caught up in his thread, always tied to him. She thought she cut herself free, but she realizes now that she can’t, and she never will. And in the end, she’s okay with that.

The _Ebon Hawk_ is the same as it remains in her memory, still dull colors and winding passages, but it’s home. It’s full of too many memories, but they’re the ones she wants to remember. The common room and the bunks are all the same, even the communications room still has an unfortunate stain from one of the Red Eclipse on the wall. She takes a deep breath before stepping back out into the hallway and towards the cockpit.

The pilot’s seat is there, and it’s a long moment before Meetra moves towards it and sits down, ready to take her last flight.

It was a good, good life.

—

 _Shake off all of your sins._  
_Time has come, let us be brave._


End file.
